


The One Exception

by InMyArmsAgain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bigotry & Prejudice, Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Childbirth, Daario is a dick, Dany is confused, F/M, Gender Issues, Gender Roles, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm so sorry, Identity Issues, Intersex charachters, Jorah is still a badass, Male Omega/Female Alpha, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medieval Medicine, Medieval culture, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mostly show-verse, Mpreg, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not for hardcore fans, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!!!, POV Multiple, Queen Daenerys, Sexual Politics, Sorry Not Sorry, Targaryens are a weird bunch, Why Did I Write This?, being an omega sucks!, but not really, graphic childbirth, helpful Tyrion, not for casual viewers, some book bits too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InMyArmsAgain/pseuds/InMyArmsAgain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It had been said that every man had his curse. And in the case of Jorah Mormont, it was a day. Yes, many men could trace the course of their lives back to a single moment, a choice they might have made that either damned or glorified. But it was never Jorah’s doing that twisted the life he ended up with. It wasn’t anyone’s doing, no one but pure fate. Jorah’s curse was the day he was born an Omega."</p>
<p>After being told that he would never bear a child, Jorah Mormont settled into a life of defying everything his breeding status was supposed to be. He was a secret Omega, but he was a knight, and he was a man. And he could not be more content with that, even through the shame and mistakes he left behind in Westeros.</p>
<p>But what is it about Daenerys Targaryen that makes him rethink everything? And why does Jorah, a male Omega, hold the attention of the young Beta princess? </p>
<p>Neither of them could foresee what fate would have in store for them, what old secrets of House Targaryen would end up causing them a world of trouble, and in more ways than one. Jorah would learn that the impossible could  happen, and that there was more to breeding than a simple status.</p>
<p> PLEASE HEED THE TAGS AND READ WITH CAUTION!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright folks, I have no idea where this story came from, but it just would not leave me alone. So for better or for worse, I spent the last few months writing and rewriting, and if I don't post this first chapter already, I will literally go insane. Hopefully I haven't done too much damage.
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing Omega-verse, and I've had to do quite a bit of playing around and twisting the rules. I still don't think I explain it well enough in the story. That's why I would only really recommend this for readers who are familiar with the basic idea of A/B/O. Oh and hardcore Ice and Fire nerds out there? Please don't hate me for this! I'm just having a bit of fun.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, nothing except the few original characters that come in later on. The worlds, characters, and names in ASOIAF/GOT all belong to George R.R. Martin, and HBO.

It had been said that every man had his curse. And in the case of Jorah Mormont, it was a day. Yes, many men could trace the course of their lives back to a single moment, a choice they might have made that either damned or glorified. But it was never Jorah’s doing that twisted the life he ended up with. It wasn’t anyone’s doing, no one but pure fate. Jorah’s curse was the day he was born an Omega.

88888

He always knew what he was, and thus what he should have been. Children were taught of the significance of their sex from their days in the cradle. They listened to the tales from the sceptons, how the Gods first created man and woman when time began. They had their born duties, with men ruling the lands and women ruling the home. But their true worth, the role they played in the survival of house and man, would present itself when they found themselves at the dawn of maturity.

Old stories told of the first days of the breeders. They began with the First Men, a million moons ago. And from them, they spread into the southern lands, into the Andal settlers, and even into the far reaches of Ancient Valyria. Some believed their birth was the will of the Old Gods, while others called it a blessing from the Mother, part of the Father’s grand plan. But no matter it’s beginning, each tale ended in the same world. There were more important things than to simply be man and woman. When a child came of age, their own distinct scent would appear, and it announced to all the world their purpose and their pleasure. From then on, life would never be the same. Year after year, summer after summer, Young Alphas would rise up over other men, their very blood enriched with power and dominance, and they built the great realms and houses. Beautiful Omega ladies would keep their mates happy, keeping peace from the most intimate of places. The rest, the harrowing, unexceptional masses of Betas, would simply go about their lives, marrying when told, bearing children when possible, and seeking their own way out of the misery to a life blessed by the Seven.

But every so often, a curious few came into being. Though the legends told of how Alphas and Omegas were made to benefit males and females respectively, none could say for sure what made those roles reverse. Perhaps it was a trick of magic, or perhaps it happened on its own. But no matter how it came about, they still existed; males who birthed their own children and females who sired them. They also attracted some inevitable scorn from those whose primary sex was properly fixed up with the right breeding one. Some made them a funny conversation in the ways of courtly love. Most deemed them abominations of man. And the only things saving most of them from outright indignity were scent maskers and an unhappy marriage of convenience. When faced with the nonconformity of their nature and genitals, to hide was often an easy decision.

But it was meant to be the Gods’ greatest blessing, his family had told him. In all of Westeros, few living souls were fortunate enough to be an Omega. So few could stand apart in the tales of passion, lust, and love.  They were vastly different from the masses of dull Betas, possessing beauty forbidden from the eyes of the lowly. They were the soft, gentle halves for the aggressive, dominant Alphas, sometimes drawing them from miles around. It was already a treat to interact with a woman or man whose scent was sweeter than the finest Dornish honey, and their love even sweeter. But it was more than just their pleasure. No, it was the surety of children. Beta women could give her husband a babe, but she might also never conceive, and surviving young would be weak and sickly. Bedded in the fury of a heat, Omegas made healthy babes, hearty sons who grew to be strong men, and some of the oldest tales told how those lowly few had brought forth some of the greatest heroes in the known world.

Anyone would wish for a task so important. But Jorah would never count among them.

The sad tale was weary to him now. When Jorah entered the world after his mother’s brutal days-long labour, House Mormont rejoiced! Of all the prizes that were Omega children, they had the rarest and most precious. They had a boy who could give life. The southern regions may have written them off as whores with flaccid cocks, but the North had long regarded male Omegas for the strong lads they still were. As a noble man’s son, he could inherit the Mormont legacy, and he didn’t require a wife to continue it. And being male, even if he was mated to a higher born male Alpha, any children Jorah had would have as much claim to Bear Island as their sire realm. Even as a baby, Jeor Mormont had plans for his boy. A child from Jorah would be a blessed child indeed. They could grow to be a powerful warrior lord or fair lady. And the chances of that would grow exponentially with the right sire. The powerful families on the mainland were lousy with Alphas, and a marriage to one of them would mean security and powerful alliance. Particularly, they looked to their great Northern lieges. The Starks had half a world to offer, and any one of their children would be a gift of a match. The future was wrought with possibility, wealth, valor, and honor. All they had to do was wait; wait for the day when Jorah would bleed his first, and flower into what all he was expected to be.

But it didn’t come. Fifteen years passed, and Jorah still showed no signs of being ready to mate. The Maesters assured it would be alright; some simply took longer to flower than others. Five more years, and the whispers began to grow. Jeor’s nieces were too young to marry, but surely his son was a viable asset by then. Tullys and Freys were all turned away; by old law, Omegas were not permitted to enter a proper betrothal until after they experienced their first heat, so as to protect their health and ensure fertility.  But this bit of skirting around could not stop the embarrassment to the Mormonts. Jeor refused to publically declare his son’s breeding gender, and he was made into somewhat of a joke amongst the high lords. Jeor was even teased with the already promised hand of Lyanna Stark, another Omega, just to jerk a response from his house to Winterfell’s amusement! All the while, young Jorah pleaded with his own body. He despised feeling like a broodmare up for auction, but he had a duty to his father and his family. Finally, after Jorah’s twenty-first name day, the worst was realized. If the first heat hadn’t happened by now, then it never would. There would be no children of Jorah’s body and blood.

So began the long charade of Lord Mormont. Jorah was barren as a desert, and he couldn’t impregnate a woman either. Should any of the other houses catch wind of Jeor Mormont of Bear Island having an ineffective son, he would be the laughing stock of the North, if not the western world. And in a world where men proudly boasted their sire sons and bearer daughters, Jorah’s gender would forever be banned from spoken word, unpresented in the public eye. By all appearances, it was the end of a bloodline, and it was more than the Old Bear could handle. He left his halls for the Night’s Watch, and House Mormont was in Jorah’s hands.

Jorah however would not be deterred. To him, his worth was not in the number of babes his belly could grow, but in the number of throats he could cut. Bear Island had long settled into their ways, a place where all were encouraged to take up the blade. The best thing his father had ever done was put a sword in his hands as a child, because it became his defining strength. So many told him that Omegas had no place among warriors, but Jorah went into battle regardless. And where a person’s breeding gender gave the very first impression, Jorah walked about fairly unnoticed. In his latent state of being virtually unpresented, his individual scent was so light that those who _could_ smell it often second-guessed, and then ultimately dismissed it. This disguise proved to be one of the man’s greatest advantages. And besides, he was hardly interested in any of the odious, often unwanted advances. He fancied a lady far better than the brute Alphas he served with. For years he served the Seven Kingdoms, alongside the greatest warriors in the world, surviving many bloody nights, and cleverly dodging around those few who might think to sniff him out.

His whole life, Jorah defied expectations. He fought in raging battles, and he conquered alongside his fellow man. He was even knighted by the Iron Throne in the dawn of a new age of kings. Omegas weren’t fighters, ha! He had vowed that he would do everything he could to overcome the secret shame of his barrenness, and he did!

But then came his first wife, and the failed, pointless attempts at an heir. Then the second wife, the luxuries, the debt, the desperation, and finally, the slave trade. The Mormont shame was reborn, and this time, it drove him away. So this was it, Jorah once thought to himself. A life in Essos as a wayfaring sellsword and an Omega with no mate who couldn’t get pregnant. It could have been far worse, but Jorah never stopped looking for a way back home, to the meager honor he had earned.

88888

Jorah had once heard an old army captain describe Essos as a world turning backwards, and he would not argue that point now. The climate was unfamiliar, and the people were as dark and dusty as their skin. More so, the power lay not with age-old lords, but with merchants and slave masters. There was no chivalry; people had no honor expect that which could be bought. But Jorah was not afraid of any of it. He could adapt to this society. They might have taken what little money he had left, as well as his wife, but he could manage. No, what frightened him was his own gender.

Alphas and Omegas were scarce enough in Westeros, but they were even rarer across the narrow sea, whatever few there were being the decedents of wayfaring travelers like Jorah. Here, Alphas held no greater privilege than other men, just what they could earn with their brute force. And Omegas…Omegas never stood a chance. They were not the suitable wives his brothers sought after. They were slaves, they were whores, nothing more than childbearing animals. So rarely did they live a full natural life, and in so many eyes, Jorah Mormont was a walking monstrosity. Male Omegas – unlike their Alpha female companions – had no place in society beyond the sexual perversions of their masters. They went against not only gods, but nature itself! And babies born of those disgusting males were allowed to live only by the mercy of those who wished to profit off them, if they were so lucky. Jorah may have had the comfort that no child of his would suffer such a fate, but he valued his own freedom no less because of it. He did not run from Westeros only to end up in chains.

His mother country had trained him well, it seemed. Jorah had valuable skill with a sword, and he had a fair strategic mind to those who would bother to hear what he had to say. And for the first time, the shame of his barrenness worked to his advantage. His faint scent was easy hidden under the liquid maskers and perfumes he had acquired from local medicine women. And with no heats to fear, he thus had no real fear of the common Alphas he passed on the streets. If any dared approach him with carnal intention in mind, Jorah would easily leave them in a piss ditch. As for those few women…Jorah would admit that he could hardly deny how he liked the attention of a beautiful lady Alpha, and a few had lured him into a brothel or two in his travels. But this was no life, at least no life he really wanted. Still, he had faced worse outcomes. In a land of schemers, Jorah had to play that game right along with them, hoping that one day it would get him somewhere, that someone would give him a chance to fix his own mistakes.

He almost didn’t believe it when that day actually came.

When word spread around that Viserys Targaryen was making deals with the Dothraki _khalasars_ , Jorah seized the opportunity in barely a breath. It was certainly one of the lowest points for his moral compass, aside from foolishly selling off poachers for money. He had never really liked King Robert Baratheon, and his rule had been less than stellar, but information on a rival would be rewarded. And if the Spider was looking for a spy to watch out for the little outlaw Targaryen children, who better than he? He did have the relative respect of this particular clan of horse-lords, as much as any foreign warrior could attain. It would not have been odd to be seen with them, seemingly serving the Mad King’s son. So armed with his knowledge, experience, and Westerosi blood, Jorah reported for his duty at the wedding of Daenerys Targaryen.

He still remembered how he felt when he first saw her. Sitting beside the ominous Khal Drogo, she looked no more than a little frightened bird, so out of place compared to her new husband. Clad in such light dressings, she stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the throngs of sullied clothes and animal skins. And oh how young she was! Barely past her fifteenth year, her pale skin and silver hair were as untouched as her innocence. But Jorah had never seen someone sit so still, yet look so regal. She was young, but already, she was meant to be something great. And she was the fairest thing Jorah had yet lived to see.

But then Jorah got closer, ready to present his carefully selected gift of tomes to the young princess. He stumbled ever so slightly in his bow to the _khal_ , but then his attention was drawn back by the same thing that threw him, Daenerys. It wasn’t easy to surprise him, and yet something about her had done just that; it was her scent. Daenerys was an apparent and declared Beta, and she was fresh into her years of womanhood. Her individual aroma should have been as bland and ordinary as any other girl, albeit a very lovely one. But there was something else, something warm and enticing behind her outer beauty. Yes, this was curious; of all the people Jorah had crossed paths with, none had such a peculiar trait. And he liked it; he liked it a great deal. But this was blind, primal instinct. It wasn’t the first time Jorah had been drawn by a higher gender’s scent. He wasn’t going to allow himself to react for such a baseless reason, no matter how lovely she was. So he bowed, he smiled, and he caught the _khaleesi’s_ attention. She gave him a ghost of a smile, glancing up at him with her striking violent eyes.

Those eyes would forever remain imprinted on Jorah’s mind and memory.

88888

For weeks, Jorah felt compelled to stay close to Dany. It wasn’t just to keep a close watch for what would be informative in King’s Landing; truthfully he got all he needed of that from Viserys’s constant boasting about his future glory, especially to another man of Westeros. No, it was more to be a barrier between her and Drogo’s men and that leech of a brother of hers. But in spite of this, the middle-aged, weary Omega marveled at his protectiveness of her. Here he was, meant to be spying on her, but he offered her more curtesy than any of her new “family.” He was the first to offer food and water, and he told her stories to stave away the trauma of nightly rapes. Princess or not, savage queen or not, she was still a woman, and no woman should endure what she had. Ever the quiet knight, Jorah would always answer a woman’s call. He always seemed to hear Dany’s voice above everyone else’s.

And his efforts did not go unnoticed. Through all her wariness of people outside her bloodline, Dany did seem to like him. Perhaps it was the comfort of a fellow countryman, a little bit of a home she never knew. Or perhaps this kindness was genuine. She always turned to him, for answers, for help, and for advice. And each time, she came with her favor, and her vivacity, and her kindness in return. And as much as Jorah ignored it, her unusual scent never went away, and neither did the tickle and warmth she created in his stomach.

Jorah was not a stupid man; he had felt such things before, and all of them had left him burned. His fancies for women had only brought trouble, and here he was feeling it come on again. How foolish was he really? Besides, there wasn’t much chance that Dany would think very much of him. She didn’t look at him the way she looked at Drogo, as uncertain as those feelings were. He would see fear in those beautiful eyes, but there was also a pull toward the _khal_ that was difficult to pass as anything but attraction. There was nothing of the sort when Dany turned her gaze to Jorah, making his stomach drop awkwardly. No, it was a silly hope for him, nothing more.

So Jorah learned to live with his disappointment, and Dany went about her new married life, her time mostly spent among the women, learning and assuming the ways of the horse people. That is, until one afternoon in the Dothraki Sea.

Drogo and his men had gone out hunting, and Jorah had found a quiet spot by a creek. He was running a whetstone over the broad side of his sword when Daenerys approached him from amongst the long grass. The _khal’s_ camp was not far away, so he wasn’t alarmed for her safety, but it was strange that no one was following her. And judging by the look on her face, she hadn’t lost her way.

“You shouldn’t be wandering, Khaleesi,” he told her.

“We’re not one league away from my tent. I think we will be alright,” said Dany. It was funny to see how confident she had become in her position in the past several weeks, being so bold as to assert herself to some very large warriors. But it was fitting for her, certainly garnering more of his respect than Viserys.

“Ah, many soldiers have said that on the edge of the battlefield, only to have an arrow pierce his eye not a moment later. You are a _khaleesi_ , child, and I have sworn to protect you.”

“Then I will not stop you.” Dany kicked a bit of dirt with her booted toe, and she sat down on a fairly large rock, which lay partly buried on Jorah’s right.

“Was there something you needed of me, Khaleesi?” the knight asked the princess. He looked up to look at Dany, whose surety had visibly weakened all of a sudden. “Actually,” she said. “There was something I have been meaning to ask you. I just wanted to wait until I could be alone with you proper.”

“Well, now I’m worried,” said Jorah, his stone singing across the steel in his hand. “I have told you many things in the time I have served you. What makes this time any different?”

“Are you an Omega?”

Jorah’s hand abruptly froze on his sword. He silently swallowed and stared away from Daenerys. He certainly didn’t want to show hesitation, but it had been some years since someone had actually confronted him on his breeding gender. And he certainly wasn’t ready for it to happen with this bright young girl. He was lucky that he had gotten by this long with the Dothraki, save for a few close encounters with the _kos_ that resulted in his winning their respect through combat. Frankly, he would rather bash up a young bloodrider than try and explain this to Daenerys.

“I’m sure your brother has told you it is rude for a lady to ask such things,” he muttered with raised eyebrows. Dany frowned, her face flushing a shade of pink, and she said, “I know, and I apologize. But it I just needed to know, Ser Jorah. When I first met you at my wedding, I could tell that you were wearing some kind of perfume, but I could smell something else underneath it. Your…your scent was different…sweeter than most. I haven’t met very many people in my life, but something about you was almost familiar.”

“It’s likely you recognized it from your old chamber maids.” Jorah sighed. It was a shame that a man could only hold on for so long before he had to give up a ghost, and Daenerys Stormborn had just stepped over the limit of his silence. He went back to sharpening his sword. “Yes Khaleesi, I am an Omega.”

“Wow,” Dany mused, sounding truly amazed by his response. Jorah angled his eyes at her briefly, making her blush. “Forgive me, Ser Jorah, I’ve never met a male Omega before.”

“We are very rare,” Jorah explained. “They say that for every male Omega born, there will be fifty females. Or at least that was what I was told when I was young.”

“My brother said that it was a gross of females,” said Dany. “He even once claimed that Omega males were almost extinct.”

“Yes, he would believe that.” Jorah gave his eyes a half roll at the notion. Viserys Targaryen had a very large mouth, like most young Alpha men, really. And he had made his opinions on the lesser genders quite clear in his free time. But here in Essos, a land where true breeders were such a minority, those taunts went largely unheard. “The two of you have grown up in the Free Cities. Even Alphas are an uncommon sight in these lands. But he does have a point, I suppose. Other than myself, I have only come across another male Omega once or twice, and I was rather well-traveled in my day.”

Dany’s brow wrinkled as she smirked, again looking like a child who was very green in the ways of the world. “I suppose I should have expected it to happen sometime, though. After all, there are still breeders in the Free Cities. To be honest, I thought my mind was playing tricks when I first caught your scent. I never would have taken a man like you for an Omega.”

“You are not the first to have that happen. Funny, isn’t it? I don’t look the part, just like the pretty girls who secretly have Alpha members between their legs. I’m just lucky enough to have a subtle scent, so I don’t garner much attention. I’ve seen the way Alphas here look at the girls, and I don’t think I could tolerate that for very long.”

Dany chuckled. “I don’t expect I could either, and I’ve had my share as a simple Beta. So it’s true then? Male Omegas are no different than females?”

“If you’re referring to how we can bear children like a woman, then yes.” Jorah stood up, and he resheathed his sword. “But we are no less than other men, I assure you.”

“But they say that a male Omega can’t put a baby in a woman’s belly,” Dany said with a shake of her head, and Jorah responded with a shake of his own. “Forgive me Khaleesi, but I am sure you have seen that a man doesn’t need his seed to enjoy his manhood.” He started to walk away. “Now, enough of this. This is not proper conversation.”

“Why not?” asked Dany, rather sharply as she turned her upper body toward the knight. “Ser Jorah, breeding tradition is part of my home culture, and there’s just so much I don’t know. No one answered my questions when I was a child.”

“You are still a child, my princess,” said Jorah. “And in my belief, a person does not need to know the ways of breeding if it does not concern them. Alphas need only assert their dominance on the battlefield or the lords’ halls. Omegas hide in the shadows until they are called out, never spoken of otherwise. But should they come together, even the strongest of wills cannot stand against such painful lust. Believe me when I say it; the luckiest people in the world are those like you, Khaleesi, Betas who have power of their minds over their bodies.”

“Those are noble thoughts, Ser Jorah, but if only it worked in practice. What I know of this world, I know it because I watched what was happening to others. I’ve seen the Alphas, the way they parade themselves around after a rut, and I’ve heard confined Omegas screaming through a heat. So forgive me if I can’t make sense. If Alphas can go around showing off their cocks and status, can I not ask a simple question?”

“Perhaps, if you were not a true princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“But were you not a lord yourself once?” Jorah gave Dany a long look that told her that she was treading on loose grounds, and though still a little naïve, the girl received the message very clearly. Her pale white cheeks flushed again. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Jorah felt something tugging inside him, turning his body back toward Dany. He met her eyes from across the grassy dirt, and he saw sincerity, her regret plain and visible. But this was so unbecoming of her, and Jorah soon put her at ease with a small smirk. “I know,” he said to her. “Curiosity is not a sin, and I suppose you were within your rights, still being as young as you are.”

“I only know what I have seen,” said Dany. “When I was little, my brother would say that Omegas were not like other women, that they had only one purpose, and that was to bear children, and everything that happened to them was determined solely by their Alphas. Those days, I hardly imagined they had the chance to leave their beds, much less become a knight of Westeros.”

Jorah chuckled behind his lips. “So many people live with such misconceptions. With all the emphasis the people of Westeros place on breeder status, we tend to forget that we are all still human.”

“I think someone should try reminding my husband about that,” Dany giggled at her own expense, and Jorah had to smile in response. She still had a lot to learn, and a Dothraki tribe was not the most ideal of places to gain experience. “Do you mind if I ask another question?”

“Of course not, Khaleesi,” said Jorah, nodding his permission. He started pacing slightly by the water’s edge, keeping an ear out to their surroundings.

“We have been riding with the _khalasar_ for almost three moons, but from what I see, you haven’t gone into heat. Isn’t that a long time for an Omega? Or would you be expecting it soon?”

“If I was even remotely close to a heat, I wouldn’t be out here with you,” said the knight. “The Dothraki are not a kind people, but Omegas, however few, have always been especially prone. The girls may be taken by any man who desires her, at any time they please. And boys…east of the Narrow Sea, an Omega male is an abomination. To the Dothraki, there is no place for a man who births like a woman. If fortune is on their side, they are sent away, sold as slaves. Only a few are lucky enough to reach their flowering age and survive a heat with their Alphas.”

Dany swallowed at that thought. She had already had enough time to acquaint herself with her new people, so she knew that Khal Drogo and his bloodriders were the horde’s only Alphas, with the other men following close behind in grand imitation. She couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of all the defenseless Omegas they had taken and used in a short lifetime, including some of the very slave girls who had tended to her. But in the midst of this notion, something else came to her that jogged her present consciousness. “Wait, but then how have you gotten by?” she inquired. “The _kos_ must know as well. I mean, if I could smell it on you, surely they can too.”

“There is a reason for those perfumes and scent maskers, Khaleesi,” said Jorah. “But even so, I have skirted by the same way I would have if I was a simple Beta before the _khals_ , through a test of arms. The Dothraki value strength, and I was a foreign warrior. Khal Drogo for his part assumed that if the people of Westeros didn’t kill me for inferior sex, then I must be of use. He however has implied he wouldn’t stop anyone from mounting me if they so wished. Even in these lands, Alphas will be Alphas.”

“Men will be men,” Dany agreed – perhaps corrected – with a short nod.

A gust of wind started blowing through the fields, rustling the grass like paper chimes. Jorah glanced to the side to look at Dany, still seated on the rock. Her silver blonde hair was blowing gently in the warm air, and when she leaned forward to hug her knees, the sun shone off the skin of her shoulders. She was a Valyrian beauty in nomad’s rags. Did she even know, Jorah thought, of how lovely she really was? Traditionally, he was supposed to be meek and submissive, but every time Dany looked at him like that, as innocent as it was, it stirred up such a feeling inside him that made him feel like he could take on all the bloodriders with his bare hands.

“So will you leave the horde when your heat time comes?” asked Dany. Again, Jorah was forced back to reality by her voice, and this time he was most grateful for this distraction. “I’ve seen what Alphas can do to a fertile Omega. They can be hurt very badly. I won’t have you endangering yourself like that.”

Jorah’s face fell, and he stared down into the trickling stream at his feet. Daenerys was raped by her husband on a near nightly basis, and she didn’t want _him_ in danger. She didn’t want Khal Drogo’s band of ruffians to use him as their toy. Maybe it was her gentle heart looking out for another she perceived to be submissive, but then, Jorah had the simple hope that Dany just cared about him. They had come quite a ways in such a short time, but Jorah shouldn’t feel so close to her to speak his deepest secrets.

“I won’t leave the horde because that won’t be a problem,” he told her plainly. Dany just shook her head.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered. “The last time one of the girls came in heat, the men lost their minds. You are under my command, and I can’t risk your wellbeing along with the women. How can it possibly not be a problem?”

“It won’t be a problem because there won’t be any heat.” Jorah looked down at Dany, and he let his face relax as much as he could as he gave a very reluctant sigh. “I’m barren, Daenerys. I can’t have children. I never could.”

 The _khaleesi_ stared at him, her face slowly melting into mortified sympathy for the knight. She couldn’t believe that this had never crossed her mind, how an Omega could be unbound, unmated, and roaming freely without Alpha presence. But more than that, she felt awful that a person who was meant to give life could be denied that purpose. Part of her duty as a wife was to give Khal Drogo a son. She could barely comprehend not just the shame of failing to provide that, but also the sadness of never knowing the love of a true born child. And Ser Jorah Mormont lived everyday with this truth.

“Ser Jorah, I am so sorry,” she said, finally rising to her feet. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have –,”

“No, it’s alright,” said Jorah. “I’ve had a long time to get used to it. Besides, it serves me better to serve you.”

In the distance, they could hear the thundering noise of horses, signaling the bloodriders’ return. Jorah watched the men ride into the camp before turning to look back at Dany. “You should return to the tents now, Khaleesi,” he urged her. “No doubt Khal Drogo will be eager to see you.” Dany flinched, but only slightly, and she strutted forward with remarkable grace.

“Thank you, Ser Jorah, for speaking with me,” she said with upmost curtesy. “And again, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No Khaleesi, you wanted to know, and you needed to understand. As I said, curiosity is no crime, in these lands or any other. But I only want you to know this; regardless of my gender, first or breeding, it will never impact my servitude to you,”

Dany smiled. “My brother and I trust in your loyalty.” She turned to walk away. But before she left, she paused, standing before the Western knight, and she looked up into his pale eyes and hard face. “By the way…I just want you to know that while I may not be as worldly as others, I don’t think any less of you for this. There is no shame in status, not to me.”

Daenerys had a gentle heart. She looked at him no differently than her Alpha husband, the slaves no different from the Dothraki. In all his days, Jorah had not been touched by such kindness, at least none he truly felt. Captivated, Jorah watched the young princess as she marched back to the _khalasar_ , and he tried to ignore the hammering in his chest that was his quickened heart.

He couldn’t say he loved her, not the way he wanted to. He loved her the way a knight does his lady. But he couldn’t deny what lay in his intimate soul, how it had warped his senses so slowly. He watched her go, but he wanted her to come back. He wanted no hand to touch her, and he willed Khal Drogo to stay away from her. He wanted Dany to be by his side for as long as she would have him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, the reaction to the first chapter was way better than I expected, so let's give this another whirl and see what happens. This time, I thought I'd let us get a peek inside Dany's mind in this retelling of book/season 1. I still don't think I did a good enough job explaining things, but I'll let you be the judge.
> 
> "Italics" = Dothraki language

Dany didn’t know what to think. Her entire life, whilst being shuffled from one strange world to the next, she never knew how she was supposed to feel for herself. This had never been more apparent than when she came of age, and suddenly she understood the power of the breeding genders. She knew everyone had a scent, and she knew that they drew people together accordingly. But she didn’t quite understand her place in the cycle. She was a Beta; as far as she knew, she was as bland as any other, and if they courted her, it was for pure love of beauty. And by default, she was immune to the madness that consumed Alphas and Omegas if the right stranger crossed their path. But let it not be said that she was free from love’s potent touch.

She was drawn to her husband; she knew that for certain. In fact, she could say she loved him. After all, he didn’t have to respect her the way he did, nor was he required to show passion in their marriage company. But rationality aside, the fact remained. Drogo was her husband. She was meant to feel this for him, luck be her heart to match her will. Her youth may have deprived her of experience, but Dany could not doubt the first choice she had made for herself. Her first, perhaps only love…

But Ser Jorah Mormont captured her attention in a way she could not explain. Why was it that when he was near, she felt so comforted and content? Why did she want to hear more of his life before he was known as The Andal?

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“How does an Omega become a knight?” Dany asked one morning by the campfire near her tent. It was a dewy morning, and the sun was still rising over the horizon. Dany had risen early with the other women, wanting to give an extra hand in the preparations for the day, but Jorah was one of the last to appear from the huts. He and Dany now shared company over a breakfast of light stew, the embers of the previous night’s fire still smoking before their feet.

“The same way any man does, I suppose,” he replied with a smirk. In passing weeks, he found that the princess had been seeking his company more and more, and though within reason, Jorah could not have been more pleased. It felt good to be wanted again, not just as a misplaced Omega, but as a man. To be a knight was more than a simple guard, and for Dany to look up to him was an honor. “As a young man, I dedicated my life to defending my lands and my house, and I earned the title through valor. There’s nothing really new about my story.”

“Except that you were the lowest of the breeding genders.”

Jorah paused suddenly, bowl and spoon hovering near his face. It was unlike Daenerys to make such a blunt prejudiced statement, even if her assumptions were partly based in truth. To Jorah, it sounded as though she was just repeating the prattle she had grown up hearing. The ways of the Free Cities were crude, but even if she had been raised in Westeros, she would have been surrounded by Andals, all of whom would have told her exactly that. This was Viserys’ doing, attempting to plant little seeds of bias in his little sister’s mind. But Jorah did not take the insult, and he resumed eating with a short nod.

“You are not wrong,” he said. “But I was no ordinary Omega. In Westeros, a person’s birth gender is what the law follows. The northern realms in particular take interest in their sons, regardless of what purpose he serves as a breeder. I was male, and the heir to my father’s house. So I had freedom to do as I liked where most did not. But even if I was a poor man’s son, I would have lived by the sword. On Bear Island, everyone is encouraged in combat.”

“Even the women?” asked Dany, a certain twinkle in her eye. In her time as a _khaleesi_ , she had gotten used to stepping up to command in a pinch, and she quite liked the feeling of being a woman of power. Jorah chuckled at the sight. “Yes, even the women. And I have a ragtag bunch of cousins who can attest to that. I daresay, the pirates of the Iron Islands are less afraid of the bears than they are of my father’s sister-daughters.”

Dany swallowed a mouthful of stew, staring pensively now as she tossed her thoughts around in her head. “But I still don’t understand,” she muttered. “Yes, we are men and women first, but that makes us no more equal, and traditions do not just appear out of nowhere. In one of the tomes you gave me, it describes Omegas as lesser men. Those prominently known were as scribes, scholars, and consorts only, never more. How did you overcome that?”

Jorah paused to ponder his approach. Dany never lived in Westeros, so she never got to see the ability for a man to climb his way to higher power. Unlike Essos, where an Omega’s certain fate was to eventually live as a slave or brothel whore. She also had the disadvantage of being a woman, an affliction not even her royal blood could fully overcome. He had to explain himself in a way that was truthful, but not while distorting the ways of a world she was still discovering. Now that he thought of it, it was not unlike the days when his father’s old maester had to explain to a young Jorah why other men would always be inherently stronger than him.

“Omegas have been called lesser men, but they are still men,” he said plainly. “In perfect theory, male Omegas would only exist until they found the right Alpha, and then they would retreat from the world to live as women do. But just like anyone else, high lord or common man, they do want to make something of their lives, and they have. Some are sent to become maesters, others advise the lords, and others still dedicate their lives to the Faith. As for me, my strength was on the battlefield, and that was where I would stay.”

Dany smiled. “I’m willing to bet that wasn’t an easy feat.”

“No Khaleesi, not always,” said Jorah. “My barrenness delayed my presentation, weakening my scent and essentially rendering me a Beta. But despite this, I was always told to never mention my breeding gender outside my father’s house, especially when we were called out as banner men for the North. But just like here, some observant commanders and tent whores gradually found out my true sex.”

“Because they were Alphas, and an Alpha can always detect an Omega,” Dany finished for him. “What did they do with you?”

“They didn’t need to do anything. The funny thing about having such a faint scent is that there are herbs and draughts made at the Citadel in Oldtown that suppress an Omega’s heats and have the same effect. I suppose that was what they thought I was doing. Besides, what I did in my chambers was the least of their concern. I might have smelt like a rose to them, but I stomped on the enemy like they were a common weed.” That made Dany laugh, and she set aside her empty breakfast bowl.

“I’ll have you know, as faint as your scent is, it’s more like sage than a rose,” she said. “It must have felt nice to stomp on old expectations like that.”

“Indeed,” said Jorah. “That’s how I got this.” He brandished his sheathed sword, showing her the leather of the scabbard adorned with rich green peacock feathers. Dany ran the tips of her fingers over the embossment with a ray of admiration in her eyes. “Strength and beauty; two things that can lie just beneath the surface, just waiting to be unleashed.”

“So it didn’t matter if your commanders knew your status?” asked Dany. “None of them tried to force you out?”

“The ways of the North are different from your Andal south. There are unsavory opinions, but there are no laws banning Omegas from battle. But Khaleesi, as much as society tries to shackle a person to his status, it matters very little when you’re facing when you’re facing a band of Skagosi raiders, or when you defend your shores from a rebellious Iron-born fleet.”

“So then why do you still hide it from others? What would happen if a man lived openly as an Omega?”

As much as Jorah might have wanted to, Jorah couldn’t answer. He had already said too much. And though Dany was a wise child, she wouldn’t understand. She wouldn’t understand what life would be if he was exposed beyond those few with mercy, that no matter what grandeur he rose to, he would still amount to nothing. She wouldn’t understand what it felt like to kill your own house, not even able to leave a child called Snow in remembrance. She wouldn’t understand how an Omega status could invalidate a right to dignity, and how encountering the wrong Alpha could turn a mighty warrior into a slab of bloody meat.

She wouldn’t be able to understand the level of fear he lived with, the fear of being fucked to bloody shreds by someone proclaiming he should be so happy about it.

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The days rolled on and on as the horde rode deeper and deeper into the Dothraki Sea. Dany earned the respect of her _khalasar_ , and Jorah was proud of her, even if he was still uncomfortably bound to stay close by. That however was no longer a problem because Dany always wanted him there. Every day was a new challenge for her, and one of the greatest forms of help was having his voice of reason. He was more than just an advisor, she was once mentioned to her slave women. He was a friend among subjects.

A friend…

Jorah played his part well, but a guilt over his spying was beginning to seep in. He wanted the royal pardon, but he liked the girl he watched over. He wanted to go home, but the young Targaryen showed signs of being a better leader than the gluttonous King Robert. Though Westeros called to him like the eagles of his island home, he was still anchored there in the east, and what man wouldn’t be with a beautiful young girl commanding him?

No! For the love of all things unholy, he mustn’t think of her like that! Jorah had a mission to complete, a mission in which failure would be a veritable death sentence. And he would risk that because he fancied the Targaryen princess? Jorah thought he was better than this. He was above these sorts of stupid mistakes that threatened to undo peace.

But he had made those mistakes before. He had risked a higher duty for the sake of a woman, and that was what led him to exile in the first place. He ought to have learned; he ought to have sworn off women altogether for all the pain they and all their bloody biology had caused him. But Dany was different, he always reasoned. She valued him for everything he offered, and she looked to him for strength. She looked to him when the foundation of everything she knew began to crack.

She saw the slaves at the hands of the bloodriders, and her distaste became hate. Her royal blood had accustomed her to female Omega servants, not the bludgeoning of men for slow work. Jorah noticed how she flinched every time she saw a whip crack, how much of her attention was drawn to their treatment. But most unsettling to Jorah was the despaired look on Dany’s face when she saw the young Omega girls being thrown into the dirt and fucked bloody by Drogo’s men. And when she dared to ask what right they were given when there were plenty of women to go around, she was met with a short, cruel answer. It was all they were good for.

“I just don’t understand. Why must Omegas be taken more than the others?” she had to ask Jorah as they rode with the horde one afternoon. “The men have their wives and plenty of Betas at their disposal. Why fight each other near to the death over an Omega in heat?”

“That would be implying that Alphas have any control in those situations,” said Jorah. “Give an Alpha the choice between his Beta wife and a young, flowering Omega, the result will be the same each time.”

“And leaving hundreds of raped, bleeding Omegas, not to mention jaded wives?” Dany sneered. “What gives right to mistreat people like that, and for something they cannot control?”

“Men have been the superior sex since the beginning of time, even before the dawn of the breeding genders, Khaleesi. And even if the Dothraki – or many other people of Essos do not cherish an Omega, that does not mean there are not others who do.”

“If such people exist, I haven’t met them.” Dany rolled her eyes. “At least Khal Drogo treats me as if I had worth. I don’t believe he saw any difference between me and any other woman he’s seen or smelled. What sort of life is it for a person to be spat upon by their fellow peasant?”

Jorah pondered a moment, and he suddenly felt a small rush of courage to ask what was certainly a bold question from man to woman, or soldier to queen. He asked, “Khaleesi, do you know what it means to be an Omega?”

Dany glanced at him oddly. All children were taught the purpose of gender, especially that of their own so as to ease their journey toward their presentation age. So the question seemed a bit infantile to the modestly educated princess. But even so, she was unsure of herself as she muttered, “I know what it means to be a Beta, which is not entirely dissimilar, I suppose. It’s to serve and pleasure the Alphas, is it not?”

“That’s what Alphas like your brother would have you believe.” Jorah spared a glance over his shoulder; Viserys was sneering at them from the back of his own mount some ways behind. “I want to hear your own words, Khaleesi, not those planted when you were a child. Tell me, what is an Omega’s purpose?”

Dany thought for a moment, swaying in her saddle. “To be a perfect companion to their Alphas. To be soft and stable while they are hard and wild. To be a good mate, I suppose.”

“In a sense of practice, yes,” said Jorah. “That is the trouble with Omegas being largely female; they are so known for being gentle in soul and body. And it is true that in an ideal mating, the Omega will always submit. But there is more to it than that.”

“Ser Jorah, all women are gentle bodies, and men love us either way. My husband certainly doesn’t care about my Beta status. The only difference I see are the fertile heats, and those just make men insane – well, most men.”

“Nature makes them insane. I have seen it happen enough to say Alphas genuinely cannot control themselves in the fit of a rut. But it doesn’t always end in violence, Khaleesi. In Westeros, it’s said that a fertile Omega is a treasure, and any man or lady Alpha would be lucky to possess them.”

“They are still property,” Dany shrugged. “No better than an ordinary maid in her marriage bed.”

“Not if the match is right,” Jorah contested. “In Westeros, Alphas and Omegas have mated for love countless times. And time can work wonders on those who don’t. That in part is where the truth lies. To be an Omega is to love like no other, to feel emotion that the songs are written about. And out of such passion comes the greatest result.”

“Children…”

“Strong children. Healthy children. The great leaders and heroes of the future. The stories we are raised upon, they say they all began with an Omega and a love-mating.”

“My mother was an Omega,” mused Dany, almost pleasantly, and Jorah smiled, adding, “And from her came Rhaegar, and then, eventually, you. We are all capable of great things. It just happens in different ways.”

Dany smiled at the knight. But something in her eyes showed it still. She still didn’t understand the way Jorah did. It might have come easier if she had been raised differently, or perhaps if she herself had been born an Omega. But the disbelief in her could not be quelled. She had seen the brutality of slavery, and she had seen the ways of breeding in its most basic, unceremonious depiction. And the most grievous thing of all? She had never seen a love-mating, never really known they existed. She didn’t know that any good could come from being the lowest to the ground.

Dany tapped her horse’s side, and she charged up ahead to teeter at the side of Khal Drogo’s stallion. Jorah caught a glance of her face as she turned to look at her husband. He kept his face composed, but he felt his stomach sinking down at the sudden new shine in her eye.

Time did wonders indeed. Perhaps Dany was on her way to knowing what a right match felt like. And Jorah would be reminded of where he stood, that he was still beneath them all. He remembered that many matches, no matter how right and powerful, never happened.

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Daenerys could tell that Jorah was afraid. He hid it very well, of course, but when eyes were turned away, he always had this unnerving sense of looking over his shoulder. Strangely, this was upsetting to Dany. He was not a wanted man, not here in her _khalasar._ And Jorah could hold himself perfectly well in any combat she had known off. She just did not comprehend what would be threatening to an aging, but still strong man.

Then there came another _khalasar_ , suddenly at first morning’s light. The battle raged in the surrounding fields, and Dany’s only protection were her slave maids! Needless to say, knowing that Drogo was out in the thick of that territorial mêlée, it was a frightening morning indeed for the young princess. She didn’t even have Jorah to watch over her; perhaps a bit restless, he had charged into battle himself, his full armor catching the light at every turn. For once, the only comfort Dany had was in the old Dothraki customs, and she tried to rest knowing a _khal_ would never take a rival’s _khaleesi_. Nothing showed this more than in the flashes of deep red she saw in Drogo’s eyes as the fighting rage consumed his being. Her Alpha would protect his mate.

But what Dany remembered the most was what happened after all the dust and blood had settled. She was walking through the camp, observing the survivors, and she came across Jorah standing over a water basin. His armor was gone, and his tattered shirt lay by his feet. Feeling an unexpected blush in her cheeks, Dany swiftly hid herself behind a drying horse skin, and she watched as her knight carefully washed away the enemy blood that had seeped through the cracks of his armor and run down his torso.

Even from such a distance, she could have sworn that his scent had gotten stronger, his scent maskers washed away with his sweat and blood. Had the fighting stirred that up in him, or was Dany imagining?

Then she saw a pair of young, brutish _kos_ approach, a pair she didn’t recognize in either sight or scent. The Alphas were still drenched with the fury of combat, and they positively reeked with the stench of their lusty pheromones. Dany held the back of her hand to her nose as she looked on.

They had almost passed Jorah when one of them suddenly stopped, turning slowly to Jorah with a cocky smirk on his face. He proclaimed that he could smell a whore, but all he could see was an old man. But then his comrade came up beside him and informed him that it was in fact Jorah who smelled so enticing. That was when the laughing started. Foolish foreigners, they jeered, that they would allow such a pitiful male to exist. No wonder he wore a metal suit! And if he was going to smell like a little bitch, then why shouldn’t he be treated like one. The larger of the two Alphas brazenly jabbed Jorah in his lower abdomen, laughing sinisterly, and he stepped up to loom over the bending knight’s arse, as though to grab him by the hip. Dany panicked and was about to rush to stop the _ko_ , but he was cut off by the crack of his own jaw as Jorah smashed his closed fist into his face.

_“Can a little bitch do that, boy?”_

As quickly as it had happened, it was over, and Jorah grabbed his shirt and stormed off into the distance, passing Dany on the way. Her heart sank when she caught a glimpse of his face. She saw his anger, but she also saw the humiliation of what had just occurred. He had let his guard down, and he had left his status out in the open without realizing. For gods’ sake, he had been vulnerable enough for a couple of stupid Dothraki Alphas to think they could rape him! He looked violated, and he looked so deeply ashamed. He was a strong, capable man, but he was quickly reduced to a plain lowly Omega by a few childish stunts. No man deserved such treatment for such a menial reason.

As Dany turned to make her way back, she thought of what she could possibly do to see that this would not happen again. She also knew she needed to see Drogo and inform him of the two invading _kos_ that needed taking care of.

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Viserys was threatened by his sister. She had temperament and tact he had long since discarded, and she controlled the horse folk when he couldn’t. An Alpha king overridden by a Beta woman; it was a disaster in the making. Dany still feared his hand, but Viserys dared not risk the fury of Drogo, or his men, leaving those few moments of solitude the two young Targaryens had together. And where Drogo was not, Jorah stood guard of his princess. That turned Viserys’s annoyance into anger.

He knew Jorah was an Omega, even before Dany had. An Alpha could smell an Omega with barely a first glance. And Viserys, weak though he was, would not be undermined by a filthy bed whore, even if that whore was once a trained killing beast. Not only that, but he also needed to prove it to everyone around him. That was why Viserys challenged Jorah to a duel in front of nearly the entire _khalasar_ , claiming he would force his sister’s pet knight back into proper submission.

Jorah had the boy on his knees in minutes, the edge of his sword pressed against his cheek. Nearby, Khal Drogo laughed raucously while Dany stood by his side, hiding her face behind the palm of her hand.

“The bloody nerve he has!” Viserys growled later that night. He had taken to Dany’s tent, seeking to vent his frustrations to his longtime favorite victim. But Jorah listened from nearby, his shadow hidden by the horse skin walls. Initially, it was to be sure the _khaleesi_ was safe, but his attention was drawn in by his own name, and then held by the prince’s words. “Striking down his king in a duel. He’s no better than the Lannister mongrel who killed our father!”

“It was a friendly duel, Viserys, not a war,” Dany said in a rather commanding tone. “And Ser Jorah has had many years of training, training you haven’t had.”

“A king is not bested by a common sod!” A crash ripped through the air, and the ground was watered by the ale that flew from Viserys’s goblet.

“Ser Jorah was a lord of his land!” Dany countered, but her brother turned right back on her with, “A lord who took his captives and sold them as slaves.”

Like that, Dany fell silent, and she staggered back slightly, and Viserys tipped his head to the side. Jorah peered through a slit in the tent wall; the sneer in the prince’s face was a mirror reflection of a serpent ready to strike a mouse. “Oh, you didn’t know about that, did you? Those rats you pity so much? Mormont helped put them there.”

“We – well, there must have been some misunderstanding.”

“Oh no, not at all, Sister. He told me so himself, never denied it once. Did you never once think to ask how a man of noble standing would end up exiled to this plot of hell? It would seem you gave him too much credit, Dany.”

“I gave him the credit he deserved for the loyalty he’s shown for us.” Now Dany’s voice was tight, just withholding a shout. “Exile or not, he never had to help us. He wishes to have our dynasty restored.”

“You’re a little fool, Daenerys,” Viserys scowled. “Mormont is doing what he’s told; submitting, as is his nature.”

Oh no! Jorah felt a stone inside him at the thought of where this was going. He had half a mind to stop it right there, but his feet remained firmly planted in the soil, and he continued to listen. “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Dany. He could hear her hesitance, the barely disguised lie she kept in the face of her brother. Jorah swallowed and touched his stomach, feeling his nerves having an effect on his body.

“Did you know that your knight is an Omega?” Viserys snapped. Dany faltered slightly, and her brother caught on instantly. “You did, didn’t you? How stupid can you be, Dany? You let filth like that feel as though he were important!”

“But he is important!” Dany defended, almost as though her mind was one with Jorah’s for that instant. “How long would we have survived out here without his guidance? What support would we find in Westeros without a fellow man behind us?”

“No one would care for Mormont’s opinion in Westeros because he has none,” said Viserys. “He’s an abomination! He whelps babes like a bitch, and he calls himself a man? He’s no greater than your pretty little slave maids, and he has no better use. I will not have a common whore telling me how to rule my kingdom!”

“Viserys, you speak to a Beta woman whom you sold into marriage. Omegas’ lives are no more about breeding than mine.” Dany took a couple of steps forward, moving to look up into her brother’s pale lilac eyes. “And as a matter of fact, Ser Jorah is much smarter than most people, even most Alphas. I have no reason to believe that his status would make a bit of difference.” Viserys just steamed, his face beginning to turn red in his frustration. His fists clenched together at his sides, but he made no move to strike. He instead lowered his face to Dany’s, staring at her through slits for eyes.

“You think you have him figured out, don’t you?” he said. “You think Mormont a brave, strong man, all about honor and loyalty. But just you wait, because sooner or later, he will come into heat. And when that happens, your brave knight will become a simpering little bitch. Every filthy rat in this savage horde will be on him like flies on shit. They’ll beat him, tear him to shreds, and then fuck him into the dirt until he bleeds, knotting him backwards and frontwards. And you know what? He’ll love it. He’ll allow every last bit of it, begging and crying for more. He would even allow your dog husband to mount him, or…or maybe even his king, if I was of that despicable persuasion.”

Dany’s face was hard, but her lip began to tremble at the gritty horror of her brother’s words. “You wouldn’t do that, Viserys. A king wouldn’t force himself on an Omega.”

“I wouldn’t have to force anyone because he would come to me. They always come when they’re dying of their own urges.”

“You don’t know that. We don’t know what Ser Jorah has done about his status before. For pity’s sake, he’s a soldier! He was knighted!”

“He was knighted by the Usurper, Daenerys. There is no glory in that. And you will see soon enough. Mormont can play Alpha for you all he wants, but he cannot escape his urges, just like the great sluts before him. And like them, he will know his place. He won’t be standing in my way then. If he did as he was supposed to, he would spread his legs for me, and he would have his trembling quim impaled on my sword. And then you won’t have your valiant knight anymore.”

Frozen in place, Jorah felt sick to his stomach. Not even when he heard the sound of Viserys stomping away did he move. And inside the tent, from what limited view he had, Dany was his mirror image of horror. He fought the urge to vomit, but only to keep his prying secret.

He didn’t want to be afraid. He shouldn’t feel threatened by the beggar weakling. But he had seen Alphas in a rut. He had seen their flaming red eyes, their pulsing veins, their bulging bodies. He had seen ordinary men become like the wolves they were named for, taking down even the toughest Omega and then mutilating them in their fit of pleasure.

They meant to harm him. The men of the North may have respected his kind, but such security disguised the danger posed by the rest of the world, by people like the Targaryens and those loyal to their house. They _wanted_ him to feel shame for what he was, to rue the day he was born with the Omega’s slit between his legs.

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Daenerys did not desert him. She would not bend to her brother’s foolish, manic thoughts, and she refused the idea of Jorah being the filth Viserys so passionately believed. Like her slaves, she treated him with dignity, and she continued to give him the false hope that things could be different. That someday, something could happen between them.

But then she became pregnant…and she was happy. And it made her love the husband she should have feared.

It was not duty that sent Jorah riding off to Qohor in the middle of the night, nor was it desperate desire for exoneration. No, it was nothing. Nothing but anger. He was angry at the gods for giving him such luck. He was angry at Dany for actually falling for the man she had to marry. He was angry at Khal Drogo for being the better man, the Alpha a woman desired. But just the way it always was before, he was angrier at no one more than himself.

He always had to go getting his hopes up. Looking back on his previous marriages, it had always been that weakness. He hoped that an arranged marriage to another Omega could be salvaged if a child was somehow born, no matter what had to be done, and then all would be alright. He hoped that pursuing the love of a beautiful lady Alpha would be welcomed and returned. He risked all of it, and only for the hope that the pain would go away.

But Daenerys Targaryen reminded him that no matter what happened, the pain would always come back in the end.

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When Viserys wore the molten gold crown, Jorah felt a strange form of relief. On one hand, Westeros was no longer threatened by another gods-awful king, and Dany was free from her lifelong tormentor. But if he had to be honest, he was glad to be rid of the threat to his own body. He never seriously believed that the prince would attempt to rape him, but he had learned long ago to never take an Alpha’s word lightly. At least now, he could concentrate on moving forward.

And he had good reason. With her brother’s death, Dany began to fully see herself for all that Viserys was not. More so, all of his responsibilities were now hers. She was now the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, and damn everyone if she didn’t know it! However, no one could say if Westeros was the right path to take, Jorah included. He had seen her through more than any girl her age ever should, and he should like to see her content and at peace with her child and her horde of warriors.

For a long time, he contemplated dismissing himself of her services. He wasn’t happy there, seeing the shadows of her happiness. But he would sacrifice his needs for hers. He wanted to keep his princess close, guarding her from all danger. He might be tempted by Dany’s new ideas for conquest, but to him, Westeros was no longer a goal. He didn’t believe that he could truly benefit from a Dothraki invasion, or Daenerys sitting on the Iron Throne, until he saw what happened one dim afternoon in Vaes Dothrak.

There was screaming cutting through the air, and Dany was rushing towards it. All morning, they could hear the cries coming from the midwives’ tent, but they were no longer cries of pain. Thinking the worst, the knight and his _khaleesi_ went to what they thought was a grieving mother, but they were surprised when the drapes drew back, and a large bloodrider stepped out. In his arm, he held a squalling baby boy.

“I don’t understand,” said Dany. “What’s wrong?” The man simply ignored her (he was not one of Khal Drogo’s _kos_ ), and he began to walk away with the child. They could now see the very young mother inside, still soaked in the sweat and blood of birth, sobbing and reaching for her newborn as a midwife held her back.

“What is going on?!” Dany demanded of her followers. She was angry now, feeling ostracized by her people, no one moving to make sense of what was happening around them. In fact, most people were standing idle, like the sight was too common to them. It was handmaiden Irri who finally addressed her.

“Baby has slit between his legs,” she explained in her blunt, broken common speech. “He is not a true male.”

“What?” Dany asked, taken aback by the base words and wondering if she was somehow lost in translation.

“The child is an Omega, Khaleesi,” said Jorah. For once, he was not at the princess’s side, choosing to separate himself from the incident. It was simply too close for comfort, too great a risk for attention being drawn to his own lesser status. “Male Omegas are born with their distinctive parts…and a male Omega has no place in a _khalasar_.”

“So they just take him away from his mother?” Dany turned sharply back to Irri, and she continued in Dothraki. _“Where is the ko taking the baby?”_

_“A boy who breeds like a mare is a curse from the gods,”_ said Irri _. “He is not fit to live.”_ It was then that Dany noticed the knife in the _ko’s_ free hand.

Dany’s eyes blew wide open, and she moved to rush forward. But Jorah grabbed her by the arm and stopped her before she could get too close. But he couldn’t stop her from shouting out in the horse tongue, _“Stop this! I command you!”_ The ko slowly turned back and stared at her through dark, imposing eyes.

_“The pale whore khaleesi does not command me,”_ he drawled, which made Jorah’s blood boil. He sucked in a sharp breath and said, _“The wife of Khal Drogo commands you all. Listen or she will see your ear cut off.”_ The warrior did not appear impressed, but Drogo’s name did seem to garner some reaction. He lowered his blade.

_“Irri, take the child to his mother,”_ said Dany. The handmaiden looked unsure at first, but she relented to her _khaleesi’s_ order, and she stepped forward. Without looking the man in the eye, she gathered the baby in her arms, and she disappeared into the midwives’ tent. Dany then turned to address the gathering crowd. _“Let this be known to your khal. This child is to remain with his mother until he has come of age. Only then will you do as you wish. And if another male child is born this way, let this be his fate as well.”_

The rival bloodrider glared at her, his eyes stabbing into her like his rusted dagger. But then Jorah noticed Khal Drogo in the distance, and how his imposing shadow stretched across his wife’s figure as he surveyed the scene. As the brute walked off down the path, swinging his _arakh_ through the air, Jorah realized what he had thus feared; the _khal’s_ power was the only thing protecting Dany.

_“Well, you heard what she said,”_ he spoke out abruptly. _“Go on with your business. There’s nothing more to see here.”_ Jorah then approached Dany and took her by the arm. “Come on, Khaleesi.”

“Unhand me, Ser Jorah,” Dany quipped, though she did lower her voice for the moment. The knight responded in kind, telling her, “You’re not safe here. I would not wish to test Khal Drogo’s patience again.”

Jorah continued to lead the way, but Dany soon began to guide their direction in her own subtle way. For his part, Jorah allowed it without a thought. They eventually found their way back to the _khaleesi’s_ tent, and once they were inside, Dany turned to Jorah with a stern stare.

“Why did you do that?” Privacy offering its comforts, Dany’s voice was laced with anger. How dare her servant drag her away in such a blatant manner?! “What gave you the right, Ser?”

“I had to, Khaleesi,” said Jorah. “Do you realize what danger you just put yourself in? You challenged a rival bloodrider.”

“He may not have been one of ours, but it gives him no more right to kill a child.”

“But that is the custom. The Dothraki are very set in their ways. A male Omega is nothing to them, no matter how young they are.”

“So they just kill him?!” Dany snapped. Inside, she was utterly horrified of what she was hearing from Jorah, that he of all people could seem so indifferent to this custom. “Ser Jorah, it was a newborn baby! His mother was still bleeding from birth. How could anyone put a baby to death so quickly, so easily? How could anyone defend them?”

“This is how it has it has always been, Daenerys,” Jorah explained, his voice hardening with severity. “And these people would not be the first to do it. It’s no different than the idea of one man owning another.”

“But the slaves are at least allowed to live,” said Dany. “What makes a newborn Omega so bad that it needs to die?”

“You don’t understand,” pleaded Jorah. He could feel his throat tightening at these very thoughts, but he kept pushing himself forward, keeping firm hold over his voice. “Male Omegas have never had the right to live. It is so against nature, many believe it to be a curse. It’s not only the Dothraki; it’s people all over the world. In these parts, the best we could hope for that baby is to be a slave.”

“Is that what they told you?”

It was almost a threat. Jorah took a step back from Dany’s stern face, feeling that stab of contempt in his gut. Of all things the woman had to personally attack, only one thing could have been a lower blow, and it was the spying Dany could never know about. She knew things about him that he could speak to no other man. She knew him for the lesser gender he sought to conceal for this very reason. And she would so easily use it to spite him?

“I was told an Omega would always have their place,” he said grimly. “You said yourself that I was one of the lucky ones. I could have been made a lifelong squire, or shut up in castles all my life. I could have been disowned from my family name the moment I took my first breath. I could have even been sought out as a hired whore. I live every single day on the mercy of others, as does all of my kind.”

“So you were spared the brutality, but would you wish it upon all others?” asked Dany. “Ser Jorah, what if it had been you? Would you allow your child to be torn away from you?”

“I won’t have a child, Daenerys,” Jorah intoned in his deepest tone. But Dany was not swayed, especially not by the inappropriate use of her given name. She said, “But what if you did? Would you let them be hurt, sold at auction, and slaughtered?”

“I would not have that happen to any child, if it was in my power to stop it.”

“Then it must begin now.” Dany cupped her hand over the curve of her swollen belly, a gesture that Jorah could not ignore. “You were lucky, Jorah. You were born in a land that treated you with dignity. You had the freedom to choose your own path when you could have been subjected to a life of endless, childless mating. And if you had been able to bear a child, they would be yours, and only yours. But so many don’t have that. Not just Omegas, but Betas and unpresented children. I don’t want my son to be born into a world that would slaughter him for his natural disposition.”

“There is no dignity in this,” Jorah sighed. “That baby you just saved? He will live, but he will never have equal right.”

“He still deserves as much of a chance as you had, as I have. No one deserves a world where they need to fear any Alpha that passes them by, especially those closest to me.” Dany stepped closer to Jorah. Her eyes glimmered as she thought of her knight and the Alphas, the fine line he teetered on at all times. “Is that so much to ask?”

Captivated, but also violated by Dany’s perseverance, all Jorah could do was to block out the sound of crying babies in the distance.

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It took time for Dany to realize that she had been wrong. Jorah did not stand against her because of poor judgement, nor did he wish to undermine hers. But even a queen could not command a man to change his mind on such a delicate manner. She had been too hasty to believe Jorah would side with her. Yes, an Omega child’s life was at stake, but what Dany had really done was demand that Jorah expose his own status in front of people who hated his kind. She had put him in the very danger she sought to stop.

It was too strange that the entire time Dany was fighting for the baby boy’s fate, in her mind, she could only see Jorah. And the more she dwelt on those thoughts, the less it made sense. How could such prejudice and distain happen to a good man who showed no resemblance to the gory whores who birthed them?

But she already knew that answer. It was the same thing that made her the property of her husband. As Jorah himself put it, it was how it always was. But why did Dany have to yield to it? She had slowly molded Drogo into a man who put her before his men, and she had garnered more respect from him than any _khaleesi_ before. No, she was not an Omega, but she would not take their treatment lying down. When her son ruled Westeros, no Omega would suffer at the hand of their Alphas.

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In his few moments of seclusion, all Jorah now did was try his best to swallow the hollowness he felt in his stomach. Where did he go wrong, he thought to himself. It was all so simple, but then, when had mating instinct made anything easy? He never intended to fall in love with Daenerys, but he felt for her what no one in the world had before. And she treated him as no one else would. Watching her defend the life of the Omega child, Jorah wondered if he had influenced her in some way. And in that, there was a world of potential. Many worlds, even! Under Daenerys Targaryen, everything would be different.

Perhaps he did have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who notice a fair bit of jumping around here (GOT fans, SoIaF nereds...) I'm only doing to save a bit of time on the narrative. If I did a straight chapter/episode rework, I'd be editing and rewriting forever. So the first few chapters are going to be flashes of Jorah and Dany's canon journey until a certain point. But of course, to give you that would be spoilers. And if anyone out there has still questions about the A/B/O logistics here, feel free to ask in the comments and I will do my best to answer you.
> 
> This is the craziest story I've ever taken on because I started with almost no idea for the plot, but it's since evolved into some insane stuff, stuff I'm actually pretty excited about. Thank God for season 6!! I hope there are some of you out there who are willing to go on this crazy ride with me.
> 
> The next chapter is coming up right behind this one, so stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD! This chapter took way longer than it should have, and I'm still no where near happy with how it turned out. At this point, I'm posting it just to wash my hands of this mess. But I'll let you readers be the judges. 
> 
> Enjoy!

In his time in Vaes Dothrak, Jorah did a cumbersome amount of thinking, and too much of it had to do with Daenerys. It was actually a bit funny because neither of his first two wives had brought about this amount of internal conflict. He may not have done something so wrong against them as spying, but each woman had made him do things he might not have if he had been right of mind. One had caused him to betray his very Omega nature, and the other led to his ultimate exile. Though Jorah could say he was wiser now because of them, it made his situation with Dany no easier.

He knew now that he had never truly loved anyone before Dany, but time had made him cautious. Growing up, Jorah lived with the perception that love was something he could control, that he could convince himself to feel affection for his eventual wife. But Raina Glover was not his mate, and had she lived, she never could have been. And after those long empty years, Jorah had leapt at the chance to have a wife so fair as Lynesse Hightower. In truth, her power over him was simply the power an Alpha held over an Omega, nothing more. He never knew her, except of her love of luxuries and her desire to mount him as much as he did her. With Daenerys, he knew her every thought, every flash of emotion that made her such an incredible person. And she had shown him how she cared, offered him her respect. But the same respect that filled his soul with fire also made him want to run and hide like the scared Omega he was. After everything he had brought in himself in his youth, the last thing Jorah wanted was to be hurt again.

But would he ever get this chance again? Would Jorah ever again meet someone who could make his heart ache each time he saw them? Would anyone but her make him wonder what life was before she entered it? Jorah didn’t know, didn’t want to know. But for the now, his driving force was his will to stay with her.

The last report Jorah had sent back to King Robert was to say that Viserys was dead. To a foolish king, with the Alpha prat out of the picture, the Targaryens would no longer be a threat. And furthermore, despite Dany’s attempts at persuasion, the Dothraki would never cross the sea willingly. Daenerys was not a threat, and her unborn son would be the greatest of _khal_ the east had ever known. Jorah didn’t know where he would fit in to this future, but his decision was no longer rushed. In his heart, he was sure that his place was there.

Then suddenly, what Jorah had long given up on actually happened. The king was satisfied with the information he gave, and he was offered a full pardon. Months ago, Jorah might have flown away from Vaes Dothrak with barely a goodbye. But if his ever growing affection for Dany didn’t keep him there, it was the deep, sickening realization of what this meant. He didn’t even need to read the hastily-written warning that came with the letter bearing the Baratheon seal.

Robert knew where she was, and he wanted her dead. He wanted her child dead. He may have wanted all her people and their horses dead. Jorah had known his reconnaissance would have consequences, but he could not have predicted a lasting connection with the last Targaryen. And now it was all too real what he had actually done.

It hit him so hard and so heavy. His senses were drowned, overwhelmed by the fury and the desperate need to defend Daenerys, fight off any danger coming for her. Standing there in the middle of the western market, Jorah felt like his insides were burning. He could hear his blood pulsing through his head. And when he noticed the _khaleesi_ about to take a sip of a visibly anxious merchant’s wine, that hot power exploded in his chest. He couldn’t really know if the merchant was an assassin, but seven hells if he was going to stand idle and let him succeed!

If it hadn’t been for the quicker action of Jhogo, Rakharo and Quaro, Jorah might have torn the bastard’s throat out with his bare hands. Even as he grabbed hold of Dany and rushed to get her back to safety, he could feel his teeth gnashing, almost waiting for someone else to be stupid enough to touch his princess.

Though he knew it to be impossible, he could have sworn that he almost saw blood red beginning to cloud his vision.

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“It was frightening to see you so angry,” said Dany, her voice uncharacteristically small as she spoke to Jorah. “I have seen you take up arms against an enemy, but you never once bared your teeth like…like an Alpha. If I hadn’t known, I might have assumed that you were one.”

For once, Jorah couldn’t even look at Dany, instead focusing his attention on saddling the large, sturdy stallion he had been gifted with by Drogo. He hadn’t realized that he had made such a display in his defense of the _khaleesi_ , and he was slightly appalled such animalistic behavior had come from him. There were plenty of stories about Alphas having fangs like rabid beasts, though Jorah always thought them to be old wives’ exaggeration. But still, he had seen what had birthed those tales. In a massive upheaval of their dominance and strength, Alphas would grit their jaws and bare canines, showing the threat they posed, the bloodlust they hungered for to protect what was theirs: territory, and mates. It was something that no Omega would ever be expected to do.

“Any man would find it difficult to control himself when faced with a threat,” he said rather solemnly. He smoothed his palm over his horse’s coat, and he turned to glance at Dany over his shoulder.  “I’m sorry I frightened you, Khaleesi. I only meant to keep you safe.”

“I know,” said Dany. “It comforts me to know that I have such fierce protectors in my company.”

Jorah almost wanted to believe those words. In actuality, his subtle smile was merely humoring her. He was a fierce warrior, but strip him of the armor and steel blades, could the same be said for him as a man? The fact was that even though Jorah thoroughly enjoyed the adventure and vigor of a knight’s existence, he would still long for the peaceful company of good companions. Nowadays, he would be happier to sit and watch Dany practice weaving reed baskets than rush into a petty fight. Jorah never truly believed a man’s status defined his character, although it would be easy to say it was his inner Omega nature bleeding out into reality. But whoever dared to make such a comparison had obviously not paid a visit to Bear Island.

“In the words of my lady aunt, there is nothing more frightening than an angry Omega,” said Jorah. His lips twitched into a smirk as he spoke, and Dany chuckled, her eyes shimmering in the dim light. Jorah smiled back at her, yet his own eyes fell slowly down to the ground. Anyone might be able to see the truth lying just behind them.

Lady Maege had said that many times, and she said it to give strength to the women of House Mormont, especially Jorah’s cousins, Dacey and Alysane. She had meant it for him too of course; in those days, the fate of their house still rested on his barren womb. But even without their cultural support for women and all Omegas, it was so much more than strength before dominance. So much more…

Omegas only ever lived for one thing, their mates. Only they could rile such intense emotion from people known worldly for their passive meekness. Only they could inspire the passion that drove the mind toward utter unpredictability, and such strength that could potentially match any Alpha. Bring harm to an Omega’s bonded mate, and there was nothing they would not do in return. Though he had long doubted the notion of breeding instinct, nothing else could have created the vicious turn in Jorah’s temper in that heartbeat’s moment. But his private insecurity was worthless in comparison to Dany’s wellbeing. She was safe. His princess was safe.

 Except she wasn’t his…

Daenerys was not his wife. She wasn’t even his mate. There was no more draw of scents, no base ritual for the Omega to court the Beta away from her Alpha, nothing that she would respond to instinctually. There was only what he felt in his heart, with no shred of confidence that it would be returned. Jorah couldn’t possibly tear Dany away from Khal Drogo, not with his child growing inside her. So in a sense, it was just self-torture. It was more than anyone should have to endure in one lifetime, but Jorah would still take it. The submissive Omega in him would load it all onto his shoulders as long as it kept Dany close to him.

“Well, useful as it might be, I don’t ever wish to see you so angry again,” Dany replied. She slowly approached Jorah’s side, and she touched the rough cloth of his sleeve. “Your loyalty is a comfort, but that is not how I wish to remember you. I don’t want you to act like the Omega the _kos_ expect, but I can never ask a man to become an animal in my name.”

Jorah had to admire Daenerys, he really did. If not for her conviction, then for her power of will. She was willing to stand against ancient tradition in the name of justice, if such a thing even existed. And he could see clearly the true care behind it. She wanted Omegas to have equal right because she wanted him to have it. It broke Jorah’s heart to see such devotion to him, a man Dany had hardly known long enough to care about the nature of breeder rights. And it broke his spirit because it only made him want her more.

“I would say you have my word, but I cannot make guarantees. There are more battles to come, greater battles. And I would do anything to keep you safe, and I won’t rest until you rule the Seven Kingdoms.” Dany smiled up at him, but there was a sadness behind it, and she left him without another word, creeping back into the dark of the camp. Jorah watched her go, not moving until her footsteps could not be heard anymore. His horse stomped its hoof beside him, almost sensing his unease.

Why? Why did he stay in a place where he felt so vulnerable? Why did he stand and watch Daenerys fight for other Omegas when it only made him want to run and hide from the retaliation waiting in the shadows? All for the love of a girl who could only love him for the man he was, and did not.

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As Dany’s pregnancy progressed, the violence growing along with her body, Dany started feeling a strange, new sensation, an increasing urge to keep Jorah close to her. They could say that part of it was to keep her safe; with raids occurring every other day, Khal Drogo didn’t want to chance anything to do with his family. But surprisingly, not least of which to the princess, it had much more to do with Dany herself. She felt at ease when Jorah was nearby, and she felt better knowing he was safe from the bloodriders. The savage nature of the Dothraki was the blaring red in their eyes, and Dany was afraid for her friend as they watched the blood run along the dusty ground. The men had learned though; no one would try to take Jorah up the arse if she was there to watch it happen.

She almost had to worry for herself, in those few, fleeting moments when Khal Drogo held her close to his chest. Her sun and stars gave her everything she never knew she wanted. He pleasured her in a way she thought not possible. And he would take the Seven Kingdoms and the entire world in her name. It was unsettling that she was only one step away from being a bed slave herself.

But despite Dany’s best attempts at discretion, Jorah was aware of all of it. Even without Viserys’ influence, the breeders were all on to him now. Slowly, it was spreading around the _khalasar_ about his alleged status, and that he was playing Alpha with those Pentoshi fragrances. He even heard a whisper of witchcraft; perhaps the shadows of Asshai had gifted him with his unnatural traits. No matter the rumor, he was marked, and the prowling Alphas were spreading their stink all around the camp. They wanted to mount him like the filthy nothing he was, though with not a shred of the dignity they allowed their women. But none of that really mattered, not anymore at least. He would rather die than be ravaged by another man, but he would likely let them fuck him to shreds if no hand was ever laid on his princess.

He wondered if she knew just how much and how easily she made him hurt. She fought for those like him, tried to bring justice to the abused submissives. But what was it worth when he never got what he truly wanted? If his heart could simply obey the reality his mind was constantly force-feeding him, then at least Jorah could at least sleep easier while Dany lay embraced in the arms of another man.

It was the dark of night that found Jorah sitting by the roaring fire, the only man in sight. The _khalasar_ had settled in the distant outskirts of some lhazareen villages, and Khal Drogo and his warriors had stampeded off to raid one of those unfortunate peoples. The other would come the next day. Jorah knew that he wouldn’t be taking part in the raiding; he need not damage his image in Dany’s eyes by senseless pillaging in the name of her conquest of Westeros. But before he could even suggest it, the _khal_ himself commanded that Jorah stay behind. It could have been solely to guard his _khaleesi_ , but Jorah just knew that the bloodriders had gotten to Drogo, told him that the Andal was a cocked broodmare, unfit for combat. For his part, Jorah took the insult with as much dignity as he could, and he set himself to his watch.

All of a sudden, before the moon had reached the top of the sky, Jorah heard footsteps approaching. He looked up warily to see Doreah, Viserys’s favorite slave girl. “Jorah the Andal,” she muttered. “The _khaleesi_ requests your presence in her tent.”

Jorah felt a weight land in his stomach. Daenerys never called for him after sunset, not once in all their time together. And at such a latent stage in her pregnancy, his paranoid mind could only assume the worst. Thinking that her time might have decided to come early, Jorah leapt up onto his feet, and he passed Doreah to head for Dany’s tent. He couldn’t hear anything as he approached, but he knew already that silence was often a deadly enemy. He faltered slightly in his step, unconsciously coughing at the back of his throat.

“Is that you, Ser Jorah?” he heard Dany say lightly. “You may enter.” She sounded calm, relaxed even. But this was not enough comfort for Jorah.  He pushed back the drapery-made door, and he slowly crept inside with a barely held breath.

Dany was laid out on her sleeping mat, amongst a heap of brocaded pillows and woven tapestries. A large, light shawl was draped over her body, and the silky fabric accentuated every curve of her heavily pregnant midsection. Even in the dim candlelight around them, Jorah could tell that she was naked under her coverings. And yet she was looking at him with a calm, kind smile as she held her hands to her breasts, easily keeping them covered in fabric.

“My…my princess,” Jorah stammered, unable to stop the slight shake in his voice. Dany’s eyebrow twitched, almost as if her servant’s embarrassment was foreign to her, and she muttered, “Is something wrong, Ser Jorah?”

Jorah’s face flushed a deep shade of pink, and he actually turned his whole body away from the _khaleesi_. What kind of knight was he, gaping at the body of another man’s wife, and royalty for that matter! “I – uh – I was unaware that you were indecent. I apologize, Khaleesi. I can go if you –,”

“Oh no, don’t worry, Ser,” Dany laughed softly. “I should apologize for not warning you fairly. You see, my clothes have become so uncomfortable lately, so I’ve taken to sleeping without them. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

At the very thought, Jorah could feel his cock beginning to tingle with arousal. It just wasn’t fair! When chance presented itself in such a way, it always had to be the most untouchable of prizes. As far as he was concerned, the only good Jorah found was the assurance that something down there was functional. Angling himself out of Dany’s line of sight, Jorah took a few deep, quiet breaths, and he flooded his own mind with the images of the bloodiest corpses he’d seen on the battle field. Evidently, that did the trick. The shagging sensation went away, and Jorah felt himself relax back into his usual flaccidness. And thankfully, when he turned his head back to his _khaleesi_ , it didn’t return. Excellent, he thought to himself. He had a working member, _and_ he had self-control!

“Don’t worry, Khaleesi,” he said with a polite smile. “Now, what did you require of me?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and my ladies needed to rest,” said Dany. Oddly, it was those words that made her cheeks begin to shade over in light pink, showing her slight embarrassment.

“I could see if I could fetch some soothing herbs, if you like,” the knight offered, but his pregnant _khaleesi_ just shook her head. Instead, she whispered, “No, Ser Jorah. I would like you to sit down.” She patted at a large, plush pillow that rested by the candlelit alter surrounding the chest holding her three stone dragon eggs.

“I…” Jorah stammered, taken aback by Dany’s request, and the sheer intimacy of it. “I don’t understand.”

“Will you sit with me, Ser Jorah?” Dany asked with large baby eyes. “Just to keep me company until I fall asleep?”

Jorah’s brow shadowed his eyes as he looked down at the young princess, and for a brief moment, he was reminded that through all she had been dealt, all he saw her to be, she was still just a child deep in her soul. Even now, the way she was looking at him was almost like how a little girl would look at her father. He could almost even see a shadow of his little cousin Dacey, and how she looked up to him when she was small. She would be a grown woman by now. The connection brought Jorah back to the present, and when he glanced back at Dany, he saw the beautiful woman he had always known. He had never refused her before, and he wasn’t about to start.

“As you wish, Khaleesi,” he murmured. Without another word, he slowly approached Dany’s bedside, and he lowered himself down onto the pillow near her head. The candles around the eggs were hot against his cheek, but not unbearable, and he crossed his legs for comfort. Dany carefully turned onto her side, facing the knight as she relaxed into her own nest of pillows and cushions.

“I suppose you must think me a silly child now, don’t you?” Dany mumbled to her companion. “I never did like being alone at night. Sometimes, I can’t help but get lonely.” She gently ran her fingertips across the cloth beneath her, and Jorah felt his lips tug into a smirk.

“On the contrary,” he said, “I actually understand the feeling. When I was a young man, my cousins Dacey and Alysane were still quite small. And as feisty as they were, they would often refuse to go to bed without company. It was usually their mother, but when she would accompany my father on journeys to the mainland, I was the one being dragged off to watch out for Grumkins and Snarks.”

Dany chuckled. “Oh, that’s so sweet of you, Ser Jorah. Your cousins were lucky to have a good man in their lives.” Jorah snorted to himself, adding, “Ah, that was many years ago, Princess. Both those girls would likely best me in a sparring match today.”

They laughed together, until their weak gasps dissipated into silence. Again, Jorah tried to divert his eyes away from Dany’s body. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t escape her sheer beauty, the way her fair skin glowed in the dim light. In the darkest desert, she was the radiant sun. And in her pale violet eyes lay a world of new hope and promise for all those she touched. Warmth swaddling his heart, Jorah smiled as those eyes fluttered in an attempt to stay open.

“Sleep, my princess,” Jorah whispered melodically. Perhaps a bit too daringly, he leaned over and gently tucked a lock of silver hair behind her ear. But Dany was comforted by the motion. Like a little child, she snuggled into the touch before sighing softly, her eyelids like butterfly wings as they slowly shut. Jorah’s heart was hammering away in his chest, and he sighed softly to himself. “Your beloved _khal_ will soon return.” Dany smiled at the thought, a soft exhale of her own slipping past her lips.

Silence encompassed the tent, and all Jorah could do was simply watch over Dany. His eyes roamed over every curve of her body, from the youthfully slight to those swollen from pregnancy. But something stopped him suddenly; it wasn’t her pretty face, or her child-ripe belly, or – gods forbid – her breast hidden under parchment-thin cloth. What had stilled the knight so unexpectedly was the milky pale, perfectly smooth skin of Dany’s neck.

It had always been apparent that Daenerys loved Khal Drogo, and the longer they were together, the more that love grew between them. But if their marriage was so strong, why did she have no mark to show for it. It was easy enough to find a mate, and even easier to marry. But only the closest of mates would be able to take that last step of breeding nature. Only those who mated for love would be able to leave their bite on each other, binding them together by blood and spirit, forever united by the oldest forces in the known world. A man could receive no greater gift than that of his Bonded.

Dany had taken Drogo as her mate, but they had not formally bonded. Her words and appearances aside, Jorah had to wonder if something unknown had not gone right for his _khaleesi_. After all, if the pairing was right and true, there would be no reason for it not to happen. Rubbing his hand over his own unmarked collarbone, Jorah swallowed his unease, hoping that this was no sign of troubles to come, troubles he should have foreseen in his own past.

The last thing he would ever wish for Dany was the anguish of finding out that her true love was not her perfect mate after all.

All of a sudden, Dany’s eyes burst open, and her hand flew to her abdomen. She grasped at the round bump where her child rested. Likewise, Jorah jumped at her startle, and he nearly fell flat onto his knees in his haste. “What is it, Khaleesi?!” he rasped. “Where do you hurt? Have you had a birth pain?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Dany. She rubbed at her belly, silent and thoughts turned inward, before she let out a soft, breathy giggle. “No, I am alright, Ser Jorah. My son simply thought to kick his mother a little too hard.”

Jorah almost coughed in his attempts to disguise his relieved gasp as a laugh. After that, seeing his own flustered stated compared to the _khaleesi’s_ calm, he just felt foolish.  But this onslaught of feeling was easily forgotten when Jorah saw the happy shimmer in Dany’s eyes. He watched as she moved her palm around her middle, following her unborn son’s movements, and she laughed when she tapped back to him with her fingers. Perhaps it was his inner Omega nature creeping in on him, but Jorah just felt warm inside. With such high stakes and promises being saddled onto the birth of a prince, it was easy to forget that a child coming was a happy event. Thank the gods for these small moments.

“Yes, of course,” Jorah half-stammered with a smirk, very much the silly man despite his Omega influence. Dany seemed to think this too as she tittered behind her teeth. The knight moved to reseat himself on his soft perch. But suddenly, something grabbed his wrist, and Jorah’s eyes traveled down his sleeve to where Dany’s pale, lithe hand held him still without effort.

“Ser Jorah, come closer,” she said. “You must feel this.”

This time, Jorah didn’t have time to panic. In one good jerk, Dany pulled him back onto his knees, and pressed his hand to the spot on her belly where hers lay a moment ago. Within seconds, the babe who would be Rhaego lashed out to strike him through the barrier of his mother’s skin. But whilst this caused discomfort for the _khaleesi_ , it was little more than a tickle to the knight. Jorah couldn’t hold back the chuckle, and Dany’s smile beamed when their eyes again connected.

“It’s funny,” Dany murmured as Jorah pulled his hand away. “Few things in this world have truly amazed me, but I know nothing else could ever feel like this. My son…it’s wonderful, Ser Jorah. You know what that is like, right?”

Jorah didn’t know just what Dany was asking for. There was proper Mesmer in her voice, but there seemed to be something else lingering beneath, something he had not heard before from a woman of her stature. He gave her what he considered a rather simple answer. “I do,” he said, “I cannot pretend I know what you are going through, but I do believe this – a child, I mean – is the gods’ greatest gift to man.”

“It is,” said Dany, “And a greater gift that a Beta woman may be able to bear as well. The ladies say I am lucky to have a fertile womb when…when many others are not.”

Jorah saw Dany’s hesitation, heard the slight hush in her voice. And despite not mentioning his own infertility, he could still sense that she meant not to slight him. And he would not allow another moment for her apology. “Hmm, despite popular tales, even the ripest Omega can have their troubles, and great houses have been built on their fruitful Beta ladies. My own house survives because of my lady aunt and her four daughters.”

“But I still wish that all women and bearers could know this feeling,” Dany murmured. Rhaego appeared to have settled down again, and she rested down on her mat. “One truly happy thing in all our disappointing lives. Wouldn’t you agree, Ser Jorah?”

“It’s a lovely wish, Khaleesi,” Jorah replied with a smile. He thought their talk would end there, but he was surprised when Dany tipped her head up to him and said, in a low voice, “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like to have a baby, Ser Jorah? If…if things had been different?”

Jorah’s eyes fell to the ground, and he frowned. It was such an innocent question, but still it left a deep hole in Jorah’s inner being that ached with the thought. He remembered the days of his youth in his father’s halls. As a small boy, he would sit in his mother’s lap and listen to her tell him of how he would one day bear the next Mormont heir, and of how joyous that day would be. Even before he really understood Omegas and the responsibility of his status, he wondered what it would be like to carry a babe inside him. The whole concept of pregnancy seemed so strange, so alien, and having never met another male like him, so female. It was simply something he hadn’t thought right for him. But then he remembered seeing a newborn Dacey, his first glimpse at life’s true beauty. He recalled the overwhelming feeling of awe as he looked down on the tiny girl in the cradle. He thought he had never seen such purity and perfection, and he was drenched in a wave of familial love. Though he was still young and unpresented, Jorah knew then that it was a sign that he would have a child, not just for his family, but also so that he could know that profound feeling again. It was likely the only time he was ever happy with his status, for not long after came the long years of sword training and preparing to lead that family, all time where any notion of women, mating, and delayed heats were easily forgotten until it was far too late.

As pleased as he was with knighthood and a warrior’s life, it didn’t stop Jorah from wondering if it might have made a difference if he had never left Bear Island. Would fate had been kinder to him if he had stuck to an Omega’s subservient place in the home? Had something he’d done caused his own barrenness?

“At one time, there was nothing I would have wanted more,” he said in a low voice. He started stroking Dany’s silver hair, coaxing her to close her eyes again. “I was born to birth children, and I did hope to have my own family like my father did. But I know now that it could never happen, and I have long learned to accept my fate. I might never be a father, but I can take comfort in the fact that there are still some who seek mine. It makes me happy to see you happy, Khaleesi. To watch your son grow up would be my heart’s desire.”

As the sound of stampeding hooves thundered in the distance, Dany finally fell asleep with a peaceful sigh. Jorah carefully got to his feet, and he blew out the candles surrounding the dragon eggs. Once only the light of the brazier remained, Jorah turned to exit the tent, but not without stealing one last glance at the sleeping princess. He felt a deep ache in his empty womb and troubled heart, but he still thought of the future he might have with her, a future as faithful servant to her family. As long as she was happy, then he would seek to be as well.

If only he knew how quickly all those hopes would come to ruin…

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It was one tragedy after another, and Jorah was stuck helplessly in the center of it all. Khal Drogo was dying, less than a day left to live, and Daenerys was already grieving. Jorah wished that there was more that could be done, and he wanted to slit his own throat when his _khaleesi_ frantically begged him for a way to save her sun and stars. But in truth, Jorah was nearly paralyzed with indecision and fear. He knew what was going to happen to her without Drogo to protect her, and more than anything, he wanted to keep Dany safe. And he tried. He did what little he could to ease Dany’s pain, tried to help her see reason. He fought against the _kos_ to keep her from their rage. But there had been no chance at all. Dany would not leave her love behind, and Jorah felt all his fear and anger pooling in his stomach as her world was coming down around them.

He had promised her that he would never again bare his teeth in anger, and yet he did just that as he slashed through the side of Qotho’s head.

He had promised to protect her. If he had acted quicker, tried harder to convince her to run away with him, then perhaps she wouldn’t have called for the bloody witch. Perhaps the baby would have waited just a little longer to come, and he wouldn’t have been forced to carry Dany into that dark, dark place.

For what felt like a lifetime, Jorah felt pain like he had never known before. He had to leave Dany with the lamb sorceress, but he could feel every bit of her agony. Dark, blood magic had touched them both, and his body was gripped by the shadows of birth pain he was never meant to know. His heart and lungs ached with all the despair and anger and terror of a thousand spirits. He pleaded with the gods that it all be over, or even that he suffer in his beloved princess’s place. Gods help them all, it was his fault she was lying in there! Gods help them!

Jorah wept silently when he heard that the baby was dead. They had all placed so much hope onto that little boy, and it was his mistake that killed him. What a godforsaken failure he was! It wasn’t even his child, and he still couldn’t help it to live. The phantom pains gripped his lower abdomen again. And while he never knew if the whispers of monstrous deformity were true, it was no less gut-wrenching to catch sight of a tiny, blue, lifeless hand slipping out from between blood-soaked silks.

Now the worst was truly realized. Daenerys was lost to her grief, and she would die to be with her husband and son. After all the time he had spent with her, Jorah knew he could beg all he wanted to change her mind, but it simply wouldn’t happen. All those days of riding and nights filled with banter and old stories, Daenerys had touched Jorah’s very soul, and it was all about to go up in flames. The last cruel touch was that of her lips on his forehead as Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre was lit.

Jorah felt his spirit tearing itself to shreds, watching the _khaleesi_ step into the roaring fire with those stone eggs, screaming her name to the skies as hot tears ran down his face.

When he saw her alive the next day, he hadn’t meant those tears to return. When he noticed that she was cradling three tiny, _living_ dragons, it broke through the grim stoicism that had taken over Jorah’s being in the night. He bowed before his _khaleesi_ , his true queen, and his unseen teardrops fell to the dusty ground beneath him. Jorah knew now why he cared for her so deeply. It was because there would never again be one like her.

He had found his match in her.

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As night fell on the outreaches of the Red Waste, Dany sat alone on a rock, with her three baby dragons winding their way around her arms and nestling into her lap. For creatures that would one day bring great fire and destruction, they were surprisingly gentle in their infancy, and they seemed to seek out her touch for comfort as they grew accustomed to the big, wide world.

But even as Dany and the remainder of her _khalasar_ stood in awe of this miraculous birth, she could not forget the heartache that had led to it. Dany had lost a whole half of herself when she lost her family. Drogo was the only man she ever loved, and she would never love a man so deeply again. Rhaego never had the chance to live, the cruelest thing to ever happen to a child. Now these baby dragons were the only babies she would ever have. Her entire being was crying out in despair, telling her that it would never be alright again. Her mate was gone…her mate was gone…

This was how Jorah found her as the stars began to shine above them. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and her lip trembled tightly. In her hands, the dragons chirped up at her. Jorah approached her from the side, and without a word, he carefully sat down beside her. Dany tilted her head to him; she did not mind his presence for the time being.

“Have you thought to name them, Khaleesi?” he asked, trying his best to lighten the mood at least for a short moment. “All the great dragons of Valyria had names.”

“I want to call them Viserion, and Rhaegal, and…” Dany paused, biting her lip briefly. “And Drogon.”

Jorah swallowed hard, taken aback by the quiet declaration. He was suddenly reminded that despite the historic miracle that had happened that day, there was still loss to be mourned, and simple words would be useless to him. At that moment, Dany was not the strong mother of dragons who had emerged from fiery death, but instead the sad young widow he had seen too many times before.

“Your husband and brothers would be proud of you,” he told her, and he said it with all the confidence in the known world. He noticed that Dany was starting to lean into his side, and despite his reservations, Jorah snaked his arm around her shoulders and brought her in closer. The touch was most welcome, and Dany pressed her cheek into Jorah’s chest. The knight could feel his shirt starting to dampen with fresh tears.

“Will it ever get better, Ser Jorah?” Dany asked quietly, and Jorah responded with, “Of course it will, Khaleesi. I beg you, don’t hold onto this pain. I hate to see you this way.” He suddenly felt a little pinprick on his upper leg, and Jorah looked down to see the black and red dragon starting to crawl over to his lap. Dany gently coaxed him back over; she was not ready to share her children just yet.

“Will you ever leave me, Ser?” she asked, even quieter than before. Jorah felt a stinging in his eyes and a jab in his chest, but his answer was true and his voice was sure. “Never,” he replied. “Wherever you go, I will follow. I live for no one but you.” Jorah spoke more to the empty air than to Dany herself, but it was enough. Dany sighed her content, and she cried herself out into Jorah’s shirt, resting into the comfort of his strong embrace. His loyalty helped to ease the ache of the hole that her sun and stars had left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, some of those scenes were meant to drag out longer than they are here. And yeah, I am kind of abusing poor Jorah's friendzone reputation here, but that definitely won't be a lasting theme in the coming chapters. 
> 
> The next update might be a while because I have noticed that I have been neglecting some of my other stories, and I should really give them some love too. Until then, I hope you all enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So folks, I had this idea initially that I would get this next chapter out before season 7 of the show premiered on HBO. Well, stupid real life getting in the way, because I failed gloriously!! I am so happy to be rid of this chapter, and I'm afraid that I will never view Dany and Jorah's book and season 2 story the same way ever again after writing this. 
> 
> I am playing fast and loose a bit here in mixing book and show canon, but at this point, I feel like all bets are off.
> 
> Just in case you didn't see, I have gone ahead and tweaked the first three chapters in addition to this one. Hell, this one might get a rewrite after a while. So if you wanna go and reread those in a tighter form, it might help going forward.
> 
> Enjoy!

At separate times for different reasons, Dany and Jorah were both certain that they would die in the Red Waste. Dany thought it to be a culmination of her family’s eternal curse finally coming for her. Jorah saw it as the only reasonable end. After witnessing the birth of a new age of dragons, there could hardly be much more the universe had to offer. As every day passed, as every ray of sun sliced through their skin like a dozen searing blades, the horizon stretched beyond the reach of the world. One by one, people and horses fell to the ground in their futile attempt to touch that distant place. Tears dried into putrid dust, the princess and her knight mourned each death with the morbid hope that they would soon follow.

The city of bones…it should have been there. What better place to enter dark damnation than there? For the ghosts that clung to ancient stone all bore faces they knew. The ghost haunting Jorah and Dany had golden hair, pale eyes, milky skin…

Daenerys said nothing when she realized her loyal knight wanted her. But for all she could have done, each thought was equally sickening to her. She loved Jorah for his loyalty and his wisdom, but she felt nothing for his body. By custom, she could claim him as an Omega. The very idea turned the Beta’s stomach. And yet her repulsion felt worse. How could she so callously toss aside a man’s affection when he had already given so much to keep her alive, and helped her on the path to her dragons? All Dany knew for sure was that none of it felt right. Jorah was lamenting his past mistakes, and he still mourned the loss of his Alpha wife’s love. Surely his feelings were misplaced somehow. They had to be if Dany felt so guilty and so upset now. She could not reject him, but she also couldn’t hurt him with the truth that she hated the idea of feeling his cock inside her.

However, Jorah already sensed her distress, and he knew it was his fault. He had let his thoughts linger on Lynesse for too long, and he said the wrong words. He had betrayed his own desires with his poor, ill-timed, starry-eyed attempt at courting. And feeling the hesitation coming off the young Targaryen, the reedy air in her scent, Jorah felt more foolish than he was as a boy meeting his first lady fancy. If there was a god in the world, they would do him the kindness of smiting him out right then.

Was it any wonder that salvation came when they felt their absolute worst?

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Everything about Qarth made Jorah uneasy. It was easy to be distracted by the dazzling colors and sparkling gems set in precious metals. But from the moment that they passed through those three high walls, Jorah walked with the weight of suspicion on his chest. The Dothraki largely ignored his hesitation, for they were too taken by the sights around them and the treasures they looked to later pillage. Even Daenerys was more relieved than cautious; unwise for her position. He wanted to take the same comfort they did, but Jorah knew better than to trust people, especially in these dark days with this exalted princess.

These people had saved their lives, but would they have been so gracious had they not had those three little creatures in their wood and reed cages?

As they were led through the city, Jorah trailing behind Dany the whole way, the knight was keenly of all the stares and gazes being thrown at them from all directions. While most of them naturally lay upon the Valyrian features of the _khaleesi,_ every so often, Jorah would turn his eyes to the crowd, and he would swear he’d seen some of those stares being turned on him. Through the rich smell of spices and incense that colored the air around them, it was also tinged with the pungent aroma of breeders. And after days of sweating out in the desert, he could only imagine how strong his own scent was now. Jorah had heard the tales of these cities, of what happened to Omegas inside these high walls and terraces. The Dothraki had no place for a male Omega. Here, they all existed as living possessions. If the people of Qarth were looking at him in such a foreboding way, then they would be twice as dangerous for a woman of great importance.

Despite her outward appearances, Daenerys was also wary of her surroundings. When Xaro Xhoan Daxos and his strange followers found them, common sense paled in comparison to the overwhelming relief for a return to civilization. However, that relief was quelled at the mention of her dragons. Dany was not a fool; she knew how valuable they would be to just about everyone in the known world. But as she stood now, she did not believe their company to be in any immediate danger, though it did unnerve her how their hospitality hinged on the presence of her children. There was a part of her that sought to reject her reservations; it was good fortune alone that there was a man in Qarth as generous as Daxos. But her motherly instinct, burning in her stomach, told her how she needed to watch out for her _khalasar_ and her baby dragons. And she did that, as any good queen would. But there was something that could not be stopped. A shivering feeling inside Dany, something in the air that made the hair on her body goose unpleasantly.

She swallowed hard when she realized that it was that she could smell Omega in the air…potent Omega. Qarth reeked with the onslaught of rampant mating. Dany frowned when her eyes caught flashes of bare flesh and jeweled collars. Even her Beta senses were agitated, for the first time since she watched Khal Drogo be engulfed in the pyre.

Settled into the vastness of Daxos’s palace, Dany thought sending Jorah and the remaining Dothraki men away in search of resources and ships would ease her tensions. She changed her mind when she realized how hollow she felt when suddenly without the comfort of the familiar, faint scent of the knight nearby.

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Out in the open city, Jorah strangely felt more like himself than he had before he joined Drogo’s _khalasar_. As a young, unpresented Omega, he had learned all the tricks of hiding his gender amidst a pack of rutty Alphas, a sheep amongst wolves as it were. But as a wayfaring sellsword, he mastered the finer points of hiding in plain sight. And it was here that Jorah felt his freest.

He had been nervous when Dany commanded him to search around the city. But those apprehensions turned out to be rather unfounded when he actually immersed himself amongst the Qartheen. A proper bath had washed away the sweat and pheromones lingering on him, and his filthy clothes had been swapped out for proper garb. So now, when he caught the lingering side-eye looks of the people, it was the suspicious stare of a stranger. He was back in the place he had made for himself in the Free Cities, a simple man who looked no more a breeder than he did a warrior.

He thought briefly to himself that he had spent too much time with the Dothraki. Dany’s remaining _kos_ bore him no ill will, but the bloodlust of the _khalasar_ had frayed his mind. No one sought to hunt him down here. The Qartheen desired their women far more than he, and it was their lovely aromas that drew their attention. Among them, and flanking alongside the fairest princess alive, Jorah was as invisible as a breath of wind.

“Jorah the Andal,” a voice suddenly came. Despite the deep softness, Jorah’s head turned to its source almost instantly and with swift ease. But the words he heard were those of a ghost, unseen lips hidden behind a wooden mask. The woman who called herself Quaithe stood stoically in the entrance of an alcove, the floor and walls lined with tapestries and herbs and artifacts of the black arts of the far east.

“Relieved yourself of your companions, I see,” said Jorah, his own tone very suspicious of the woman who had come to their rescue in the desert. His sword hand unconsciously found its way to its grip on his belt, and he inquired, “What would you want with me that cannot be said in their presence?”

“My dealings with your lady do not concern those of the merchant prince,” Quaithe intoned calmly. Her mask made no movement, nor her eyes as they focused on the knight. “But my dealings of this moment are with you, good Ser. Does the Mother of Dragons know you walk alone here?”

“I am here on her orders,” Jorah replied. “Her grace bade me to find her a ship.”

“To take her away from this place,” Quaithe finished for him. She slowly began to step out from her shadowy dwelling, causing Jorah to tighten his hold on his sword. “Unhand your blade, Ser. Your princess is in no danger from me.”

“And you would imply that I am?” Despite his unease, Jorah held his ground before the shadow mistress. Quaithe squinted through the holes in her mask, and she lowered her face to angle her eyes and look up at Jorah. “You don’t know, or perhaps you deny it. Any bearer who walks alone is free to be taken.”

Jorah’s insides turned to stone, and his face flushed with the sudden onslaught of anger. Just when he thought he could vanish into a crowd again, he had to be openly refuted, and by someone who sought to use him to get to Daenerys. Jorah had the mind to swipe the knife hidden behind his back and plunge it into the shadow-binder’s heart. And the only thing stopping him were the people in the streets around them. Clenching his jaw, Jorah settled for a hard exhale through his nose, and he regained the mind to form the proper response.

“I don’t know what you intend, but you are mistaken.”

Quaithe shook her head, and Jorah swore that he could feel her smirking at him. “You are not a fool, Ser,” she murmured. “No man is without a scent, no matter how slight. And not all are as ignorant as the men of the west. The world is a dangerous place for your company, especially for those like you. In all of Essos, you are one of the few bearers to walk freely.”

“Hold your tongue, woman,” Jorah growled. “Or I’ll have it out myself. You claim that you want to help my queen, but all I have heard are warnings, threats, and talk of breeders. What use are you?”

“I aim to aid the Mother of Dragons reclaim a birthright,” said Quaithe. “To help her servant is to help her as well. I can see it; she needs you.”

Jorah felt his stomach quiver at the thought. He had thought to himself that Dany’s safety depended on him. There was simply no other warrior who would fight for her as fiercely or as passionately as he. Just the threat to her was enough to make his blood boil, as this Quaithe woman was seeing now. Beyond that, however, even with all the love he bore for her, Jorah could not see much more he could do. He couldn’t guarantee her success, he couldn’t vouch for their honor, he likely couldn’t even find her a ship. But then Jorah would think of Dany, and of the way she had looked at him all those times in the _khalasar_ , the way her eyes shimmered in the light of the moon…

“She does…” he muttered, half to himself. Even as the words left his lips, he didn’t know if they were truth or desire. It didn’t seem to matter to Quaithe, who said, “And she is fond of you. Why else would she keep you so close? It would upset her if something were to happen to her advisor.”

Jorah sneered at the woman. “This isn’t a wooden sword I carry.”

“True, but that is not always enough, is it? How does a male so rare and desired, and yet so reviled, survive among a horde of savages? The civilized men of the world are no better than the Dothraki; you know that. If you wish to dissuade them, you need to hide your nature, your scent. I can give that to you.”

Jorah let go of the sigh he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He had gotten scent maskers from an assortment of witches in the past, so a shadow woman would be no different. Whereas before, when he would take the inconspicuous little bottle without thought, he hesitated now. The perfumes had saved him many times, especially with the Dothraki. But he had scarcely used them in the last long weeks, and not once since the birth of the dragons. Where had that courage come from? Was it his age and tiredness that made him weary of hiding his pitifully meek scent? Or was it something else?

Daenerys treated him so well when he didn’t wear the maskers. In fact, she seemed to treat him better than when he had. And because of her, the others in their company treated him with decency. When confronted with such a reality, Jorah wondered if it was even worth taking those steps backward.

“I don’t need your potions,” he said in a low snarl. And without another word, he stormed off down the road. Yet from behind, without hardly any effort, he heard Quaithe’s voice echoing after him. He knew where to find her, she said. Not likely, he thought.

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“So tell me, Princess,” Xaro Xhoan Daxos asked in his deep, smooth voice that Dany might have found alluring earlier in life. He spoke to her while walking around his gardens, entertaining the _khaleesi_ and her handmaidens until the men of her company returned from their search for resources. “Are you aware that your manservant is a bearer?”

Dany paused for half a second, the wine in her hand unwavering near her breast. Catching the common eastern term for Omegas, she was taken aback by the sudden nature of the question and the utter lack of tact in which it came. “Ser Jorah is not my manservant, as I have said before,” she automatically corrected, with only a hint of proper force. “And his breeding status is of no importance to me. Why must you ask?”

“I simply found it curious. You have brought dragons to life, and you are attended by a man with a fruitful womb. You certainly have a way of gathering the rarities of the world.”

Dany felt a cringe on the inside, hatefully reminded of how unfruitful the womb in question was. “You say that as though you mean to slight him.” To Dany’s surprise, Daxos laughed at her, and the pale young woman turned to look up at him. “What is so funny?”

“Young one, even in the Seven Kingdoms, a bearer doesn’t hold the status to warrant a slight,” Daxos explained. “And certainly not enough to advise royalty.”

“I believe you are mistaken,” said Dany. “Ser Jorah told me that lower breeders have held all sorts of positions in court.”

Daxos smirked. “The lucky few, perhaps. In your lands, that man of yours would be reduced to servitude the moment he is married and mated. Their only real use is keeping the old houses alive and keeping mates entertained. And here, you have one in armor.”

“It makes no difference to me.” Dany spoke with surety as she shook her head. “Being an Ome—a bearer hasn’t stopped Ser Jorah from protecting me. I couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend.”

“Hmm, yes,” said Daxos. “I could smell his devotion to you when you first stepped through my door.”

Dany gave pause again, and this time, her insides dropped when the realization hit. “You could smell him?”

“Oh yes. From a distance, I mistook him for a common breeder. But standing beside you, I say it was obvious. Your man may be peculiar, but anyone close enough could tell.”

Daxos kept speaking, but Dany allowed the sound of his voice to fade into the background, getting lost in her own thoughts. She had thought it was just her; all that time spent with Jorah, and the heightened rush of emotion after the pyre. But now it made sense why the Qartheen women looked at him so strangely. Jorah’s scent could not have gotten that much stronger. It had only been a hare’s breath from her standing. Even her handmaidens had only just begun to ask if he had been wearing perfumes before when he hadn't…

“And I should say that there are many in Qarth who would find him very appealing.”

Daxos’ voice caught Dany’s attention once again. Her brow began to arch as her stomach suddenly turned uncomfortably. “I don’t believe I understand,” she muttered. Daxos tittered to himself, and he turned toward the opposite end of the garden.

“Look there, Princess,” he commanded, pointing his finger aloft. Standing in the doorway to the palace halls, a young, thin woman stood still as stone, wearing the lightest of silks that barely hid her genitals and left her tiny breasts exposed. Beside her was a tall man wearing even less, a bit of cloth covering his cock, and not an ounce of muscle on his body. Around both their necks, they wore the same golden collar encrusted with rubies.

“Every man in Qarth aspires to keep a bearer in his house.  They are priceless in their value, not just to the survival of man, and only few are so lucky to receive such a slave. The western folk like to keep theirs locked away, but the Qartheen believe such pleasure is made to be shared. How many trades have been sealed with one man spending a night with another’s bed slave.”

Dany turned to look up at Daxos, and just like that, she saw a little clearer. In the merchant prince’s face, she saw the contempt for those slaves, but also the lustful power he held over them, and a hint of what he may do to them after sunset. That along with this talk of deals made Dany realize what she should have before this ever became conversation.

“You mean to say that I should sell Ser Jorah as a slave,” she said, tensing up. “As if I would. Am I to take this as an offer?”

“Ha!” Daxos abruptly barked. “Now that is funny. No, I prefer females only. The males I do possess are for my friends. But that is not what I meant to say.”

“Then what is?” asked Dany.

“I mean to say that you need to know when to utilize your resources. If you desire the Iron Throne, you will need allies. And allies can be bought. If you play your best hand, with the right sire lord, you can reap the greatest winnings.”

Dany set her jaw in a steady expression of distaste, just staving off anger. She may have been young, but she had seen the free world, and she knew the terrible things Alpha lords did to Omegas; wife, mate, or slave. She had never heard something so appalling as to use them as a bartering tool.

“I will never use Ser Jorah that way,” she told Daxos. She set aside her goblet of wine. “Nor any of the bearers who follow me. And I never will, here or in Westeros. I have other ideas of bartering with my allies.” As she swept across the garden to enter the palace and find her ladies, her violet eyes lingered on the two Omega slaves as she passed. She truly pitied them, knowing they would be fucked every night, but not by who or for what reason.

88888

It would be said rather soon that for a little girl, Daenerys certainly had her way of intimidating people. Jorah knew something had happened from the moment he stepped back inside Daxos’ walls. Those who spoke of the _khaleesi_ were much quieter about it, and the seemed to recognize Jorah’s presence more keenly than before. To offend the Mother of Dragons was to offend her entire company, it would seem. With what he thought to be good judgement, Jorah did not ask questions. If Dany was irritated, how foolish of him to make it worse.

Whatever had happened, Daxos apparently felt some desire to smooth out their relations, and a huge feast was swiftly thrown together in his halls. Dany was seated with honor, of course, and Jorah was placed beside her. The knight facetiously thought they might have looked like a married pair, but only if people ignored his common garb beside the exquisite silks of Dany’s borrowed gown. It reminded Jorah of his own house status. He was once a lord of the North. Yet to others, he was only slightly greater than a peasant, just as Lynesse had grown to feel. And sitting beside the beautiful Targaryen princess, he certainly felt it now more than ever.

This was what lead him to the side of the room, standing by the arches that led out to the gardens. From there he watched Dany. She was speaking with a group of older women, the wives of Qartheen society most likely. But even if the conversation was out of pure obligation, she never showed it. She smiled, and she laughed, and every now and then, she would look to Jorah, almost like she was making sure he was still there. He would nod his assurance, and she would return to socializing. She had her place, and Jorah had his. And for now, he was content with it.

But then he felt a presence slink up beside him. Grasping the hilt of his sword, Jorah took a step back as he turned to face what was encroaching.

“Are you the one called Jorah the Andal?”

The woman was in her later years, near Jorah’s age, though it hardly showed in her pointed face and alluring brown eyes. Black hair draped over her shoulders, glossing over tanned skin, and she was adorned in red silk. Where her skin was bare was encrusted in gold and jewels. Yet somehow, it seemed both her gown and her jewels were clinging to her with a hair’s strength, as though she would prefer to be naked. Not even a step behind her stood a man, collared in rubies around his neck, his slave eyes trained upon his apparent mistress.

“Why do you ask?” Jorah asked, suspicion clinging to every word. “And who are you?”

“I’m a friend, a friend of the city.” A deep, haunting gaze travelled down Jorah’s body, making his skin prickle unpleasantly. “Has Qarth treated you well, my dear?”

“Well enough,” said the knight. “Xaro Xhoan Daxos has been generous to us in his hospitality.”

“I should think so,” said the woman. “The Summer Islander always has made a show of his good fortune. A western princess is only one reason for a party such as this. However, I was not speaking of your company, but of you. Tell me, dear. What has Daxos offered you?”

“Food, rest, and freedom. I care for nothing else, nothing but to return her grace to our homeland.”

The woman tittered behind her wine-stained lips. “A fine man, you are. You are loyal, and you seek to please. If only there were more like you, and I have already met so many.”

Jorah was utterly confused. Since arriving in Qarth, no one had approached them without motive. Notions of sanctuary and grand support. This one seemed the same. She looked like no lady of Westeros, but if she had a slave, she had to have been of some significant wealth. A woman holding a chain rarely got there without help. But Jorah had met free-walking women before, and rarely did he find reason to call them trustworthy. How devious it was. Why find him in his solemn seclusion instead of offering her charm right to Daenerys herself? Something was wrong with this, and Jorah was keen to sniff it out before this ever got back to the _khaleesi_.

“What is this all about?” he asked with a stern turn in his voice. The woman’s eyes leered over Jorah’s body once again, and for half a moment, her face was something like that a hungry dog. Her attention was placed solely on him, sparing not a single glance to Daenerys.

“I have many things, dear,” she said. “I have fine clothes, warm fires, enough gold to buy passage to the free cities. As I told you, I am a friend. I keep good company in a marvelous home, and I like to share. You see, it so distresses me when I see others not treated with the respect they deserve, especially any capable bearer.”

At that quick mention, defense instinctively kicked in. Jorah gritted his teeth behind his lips, and he locked his shoulders as he stood up straighter. He glared at the woman from the side as he finally pulled a strange scent out of the musk of perfumes, incense, and numerous low breeder pheromones around her. It was a sharp prick, herbal in nature, but so intimately female. The hot potency polluted the almost overwhelming flood of Omega sweetness, and it swam its way up to assault Jorah’s senses particularly. He might have taken her for a brazen Omega like himself, but this sensory overload gave away everything Jorah needed to know, and sadly, he drew from experience.

He should have realized sooner that this woman was an Alpha. Her obviously being a brothel madam should have been his first clue.

“You know nothing of bearers.”  

“Oh no, quite the contrary,” she told him. “They are such beautiful creatures. I love them so much. You know there are not many to come by, and yet I have collected many at my home. And they love it there. They have silks, jewels, a feast of delicacies, and the best company of any in Qarth…and if they are lucky, perhaps a mate.”

Behind her, the gold-collared slave shuddered in an almost pleading way, lowering his head. She noticed this, and calmly, she lifted her wrist up and held it to the boy’s nose. He caressed the hand, taking in deep breaths, practically absorbing her pheromones from the prominent scent point. And the Qartheen lady looked back to him with a soft, whimsical smile. Jorah tasted bile at the sight. He knew slaves learned to live as captives, but masters mating with them was a step too far.

“Why starve to death in the wilds when you could have all of that? What are shriveled baby dragons compared to a life of riches?”

So, there it was, finally. Jorah always dreaded those inevitable few who would smell his Omega nature, but he dreaded more how those encounters would end. A proposition. A thousand ways how someone else could benefit from his supposed value that he would never enjoy. Jorah had seen it enough in marriage barters, both for him and his younger cousins. He knew how lucky he was then that he hadn’t lost his freedom to a forced mating, and not even a beautiful woman could help him to reconsider.

“They wouldn’t be my riches, would they?” he said. “And what would you demand in return?”

The lady Alpha scoffed, as though she had been offended. “Only the promise to entertain my friends. They have come to expect certain comforts, and it is the least I could ask of my treasured guests. And oh…a bearer like you, you would be the right kind of excitement for those with…more discerning tastes. A mount like you would make anyone feel powerful, man or woman. Treat them right, let them have their fun, and I will see that you earn your fair share. Does that not sound enticing?”

Anger boiled in Jorah’s stomach. This was not the first female Alpha, nor the first madam to approach him. But never had a woman so casually tried to lure him into her den of whores, not to pleasure him, but to gift him to other randy Alphas. It was almost sickening. Compared to the lithe boy the Qartheen woman had claimed as her mate, hardly anyone – man or woman – would pay to lay with him. But the reality that this encounter was even happening showed just how possible it still was, how ready people were to use him, and for nothing but a cheap, desperate fuck.

“I am in the service of Daenerys Targaryen,” Jorah declared, staring the madam in the eye. But she was undeterred, and she shook her head. “The Mother of Dragons will be well compensated, I assure you. Why, for you, she could purchase a ship large enough to take her, her little children, and her Dothraki scum back to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“She won’t leave this city without me.”

“I am giving you a choice.” She suddenly grabbed hold of Jorah’s arm, and she dug her sharp nails into his skin. “Make no mistake, Andal. In Qarth, we are fair to all, but all must keep to their place. Word has it that you are not very good at that. I do like to be better than my lot’s former masters, but I do not hesitate to teach a lesson not to forget.”

Jorah felt the tight pinch of pain building around his wrist, and he tensed his muscles to pull away. “I have no master.”

“Oh but you do.” The madam tilted her head to the side, setting her gaze on the pale form of Daenerys. “I see the way you look at her, how swift you are to answer her call. You may not wear her collar, but she owns your spirit. The fact that you cannot see that shows just how beguiled you truly are. All bearers are slaves to someone, be it their fathers, their champions, or the lovers who claim them. But still, do you not wish to please her? Would you not wish to help gift her with the stolen crown she seeks?”

“She wouldn’t –,”

“She knows she would benefit greatly, and she knows you would be better off.” Suddenly, the sensual purr of the lady Alpha’s voice disappeared, and it was replaced by a quiet, but harsh hiss. “You would be far better off with me than anywhere else, even with your little princess. So either you come to me willingly, or I shall have to handle this affair myself.”

“Unhand me!” Jorah snarled as he yanked his arm out of her reach. Stumbling back slightly, his hand instinctually found its way to the knife behind his back, though he stopped himself short from drawing the blade and slashing. “I will not be your slave. I do not fear you, woman.”

“Oh,” the madam gasped, though with not an ounce of surprise. Her lips curled back, baring her teeth in a show of dominance. “You know nothing, dear. I may be a woman, but my young, beloved mate will tell you. When I get you alone, I will give you something to fear.”

“What is going on here?”

Jorah turned his head sharply in time to watch Daenerys come charging through the crowd, her gown blowing in the air behind her. Her cheeks were tinged a particular pink, the shade produced from a sudden, swift movement. And by the faces of the surrounding people, it was clear that was exactly what she did. With Daxos hurrying to catch her from behind, she came to a stop an arm’s reach from Jorah, and she surveyed the scene not with suspicion, but with full-fledged ire.

“Mother of Dragons!” the madam gleefully smiled. She obviously hoped that their discussion had not been overheard, and if it had, she hoped her Alpha charm could hide the erroneous intentions she held. “Tis an honor to be in your presence! I am Lady Delisa of the Ruby House. I was just speaking with your manservant, and upon hearing of your recent plights, I just might have a way to be of help.”

“I heard what you said,” said Dany, not an ounce of patience in her voice. “And I know what the Ruby House is. Xaro Xhoan Daxos tells me that low breeders are collected there for _the joy of all the city_.”

“Indeed, they are.” The madam – Lady Delisa – flashed a grin that caught the torchlight, and her eyes glowed in the dim, yellow light. She had no shame in her identity, nor in her establishment. But she made the mistake of assuming that the _khaleesi_ thought the same. She continued, disregarding the hardening stare coming from Dany. “And you would see what a glorious opportunity they are here. The little lovelies in my care are my heart’s delight, but I always look to give them more company. And how lucky you are to have such rare beauties in your possession. Give to me your sellsword, and all the Dothraki women you have, and I will give you gold to buy your ships, and your army.”

“He is _not for sale_!”

The hum of voices fell silent, and all eyes turned to where Dany stood. Her shoulders were locked, and her hands balled into hard fists. The lilac in her eyes flared like the fiery rage burning in her chest. These people did not know her. They did not know her passions, or her desires. Yet they so carelessly and so casually propositioned her to sell her devoted followers, her family, to a lair of bed slaves and their masters. And in presenting it as a gift of refuge, they had insulted Dany’s intelligence as well. Fed up with being treated like a child, easily manipulated, Dany dared the older woman to force her will over hers with the strength of her hidden cock.

“Your grace, please forgive–,” Lady Delisa tried to apologize, but Dany barked back with, “No, I won’t hear it. My advisor, nor any of my company, are for sale.” She turned to address the crowd, whose attention she now firmly held. “And let that be known to anyone else interested in their…services. Those who follow me will never be made a slave.”

Lady Delisa lowered her head, bowing deeply before the _khaleesi_ , and her slave mate shivered behind her. “I apologize for offending you, your grace,” she muttered. “But I only wish to understand. My house is a sanctuary for all bearers, and as such, your man is going to have needs. Would you not have pity for those poor, wretched things?”

“My pity for them does not extend to those who profit off them,” said Dany. “And I would leave it to Ser Jorah to say what his needs are, though I’d say he made that clear already.”

Dany looked to where Jorah had stood pinned against the stone pillar, but her face fell, and she felt her insides sink when she saw that he had disappeared. Brimming with concern, she looked around hurriedly for the knight. But she stopped suddenly when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned, and was greatly disappointed to see the master of the house behind her.

“Let him go, your grace,” Daxos crooned as he straightened himself again. “He will return. I do apologize; Lady Delisa has been known for her solicitations at these gatherings. She will not bother your party again.”

He made a swooping motion with his hand, and the polished brothel madam slunk away with a defeated scowl, her slave mate following close behind. Dany did not miss the quick gnash of teeth from the older woman, and her nose wrinkled unpleasantly in response. If she was supposed to be threatened by that, it was weak if it couldn’t make a little girl Beta quiver.

“Now, enough of this nonsense,” Daxos began again, taking Dany’s arm to guide her back into the festivities. “Come, my princess, for there is news that I received today that would greatly interest you.”

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Jorah didn’t stop running until he was deep into the city, away from Daxos’ palace. Despite the streets being cloaked in darkness, he knew where he was going. And he wasn’t going to stop until he could no longer feel that steely Alpha stare on his back. He wouldn’t stop until he felt safe again.

The alcove seemed darker than what was possible, almost a black hole of night and silence. There were no fires, nor any sounds to indicate life inside. But Jorah did not falter. He couldn’t. Gripping his sword in one hand and the scabbard in the other, the knight took a step forward into the inky, black entranceway.

“I knew you would return.”

Jorah braced himself, but he was caught off-guard when a fire suddenly roared to life. The flames settled into the metal brazier as the form of Quaithe appeared from the darkness, the fire’s light glowing on the surface of her mask.

“Few dare to seek my presence, only those with great reason. Whether they realize it or not is another matter, but paths meant to converge always will at their end. And surely you know this to be true as well. I can see it in your eyes. You are afraid.”

“I want the scent maskers,” Jorah demanded, speaking with as much control as he could muster. “You said you had them. Give them to me, or I’ll kill you.”

“So you see it now,” Quaithe floated across the stone floor, her movements as silent as the wind, drawing ever closer to the Omega. “You are not as inconspicuous as you once thought, Jorah the Andal. You are not immune to the advances of the higher breeders. And now you wish to hide from them.”

“I am not hiding,” Jorah snarled. “I want to discourage anyone who would take such unsavory advantage of my queen and her subjects.”

“You wish to fool the others into believing you are one of them,” Quaithe corrected. Her voice was low, but it held a cold authority that had Jorah biting back his response. “You would not have come to me if you had not already encountered a threat to your body. And you abandoned your queen to seek the comfort of false scents. You foolish man, those days are long since behind you.”

Jorah felt a hard stone in his throat. The realization that he had willfully left his _khaleesi_ behind was bad enough, but it was a stab in the gut to think this unfathomable truth. After forty years, how could his minimal scent suddenly become widely noticeable? Could such a change even occur? But then, there were not many explanations. This entire city looked at him like he was beneath them, the same cold stare that was turned on others all over the known world. Never had Jorah felt more uncertain of himself. If this was true, if his scent truly had changed, then he had more to worry about than a few boorish, young Dothraki, or an overeager madam. As was such, it was all the more reason to be standing in a dark alley with the shadow woman.

“Give them to me, witch,” he commanded. “I’m not leaving without them.”

“As you wish,” cooed Quaithe. Again, she ghosted her way across the tiny room, and she stopped at a small table, atop which sat a chest. She opened the top lid, and then slid out the sides. Even in the inky dark, Jorah could see various strange looking items; bottles of black water, dried plants, and sticks of sharp black stone. She quickly found what she was looking for, and she turned back to the knight. She reached for his hand, and she laid the tiny bottle onto his palm.

“Use them wisely,” she told him. “These will not last you long, and remember that others have not your fortune.”

“Fortune has nothing to do with it,” said Jorah. He pocketed the bottle, and then he turned back to face the masked woman. “You will tell no one about this.”

“If you so desire,” Quaithe replied. “After all, those high breeders and sires would balk at the thought of your kind protecting the Mother of Dragons.”

“I did this to please her,” Jorah spoke with a small touch of hope that it actually would. Quaithe shook her head, and her eyes fluttered slowly, almost reminiscently.

“You are worth more to her than your sword. Bearers, Carriers, Omegas; whatever they are called, they all have their part to play. But you must be wary. What you fear is the greatest pain, and it lays hidden in plain sight. To truly please her, you must obey instinct.”

Jorah’s brow furrowed, and he shook his head. Quaithe’s words were more riddle to him than heeding. And even if it made sense, who could say that he could trust her? The woman, who held herself to be neither great nor humble, seemed to carry no scent at all. Those who defied true nature did so only by means of the dark arts. Regardless of her intentions, Jorah was certain of one thing, and that was the dubious nature of spoken prophecy. He once thought he would see a baby grow up to become a mighty stallion, and yet the crones of Vaes Dothrak could not foresee the sorceress. This was no different. Quaithe could see into the future no more than he or anyone else could. Even dark magic had its limits.

But still, as gravely suspicious and bothered as he was, something weighed on Jorah’s mind, and it was enough to stop him in his tracks, standing frozen in the arch of Quaithe’s hollow.

“Why is this happening to me?” he asked, swallowing the knot that was forming in his throat.

“No man knows the full truth of mating,” said Quaithe. Already she was beginning to slink back into the dark whence she came. “What strange workings can shrivel a ripe Omega womb and render the brash Alpha impotent? Perhaps it was your own doing. Your infatuation with the same woman you swore to protect.”

Jorah shook his head adversely. “I have loved before, many years ago…it never had such an effect on me.”

“Then that must be something you find for yourself.” The scentless woman turned away. “Even if it lasts a thousand years, a truth eluded must always be revealed.” And then she was gone, like mist on the wind.

Once Jorah was assured that he was once again alone, he took hold of the bottle in his palm, and he pulled the cork from its small, thin neck. He pressed two fingers to the rim, feeling the warm brew saturate his skin as he tipped it over. He then brought those fingers up, and he rubbed along the base of his neck, over his inner wrists, every scent point that could give him away. His nostrils flooded with the smell of deep Alpha musk. Relief slipped past his lips with a deep sigh.

He made sure the bottle was tucked away and well-hidden before he set out into the darkness, bound for Daxos’ palace.

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“Ser Jorah!”

The knight’s head jerked up at the sound of his name. He had just turned the corner that led to their wing of chambers when out of the shadows ahead, Daenerys came dashing toward him. Her flowing Qartheen gown was blustering on through the air as her feet flew with a barely a sound. At first, Jorah thought that she would be angry at his abrupt disappearance; he had actually been rather oblivious to the idea until he was well on his way to Quaithe. But as she got closer, he could see that the lines in her face were not of annoyance, but of concern.

“Khaleesi,” he spoke up as he turned fully to address her.

“Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.” Dany slowed to a stop, and she brought up her hand to touch Jorah’s sleeve. When Jorah saw this, he took a step back. As much as he wanted her to touch him, now was not the time. He sighed and said, “Forgive me, Khaleesi. I did not mean to alarm you. I just needed to get some air before. I never was overly fond of those sorts of grand parties.”

“Well, I wish you had said something,” said Dany. “I might have gone with you. Anything to get away from that Alpha woman. And she dared to call herself a lady, that greedy old shrew. She didn’t hurt you, did she?” The _khaleesi_ took hold of Jorah’s arm, lifting the cuff of his sleeve to look down at his sun-drenched skin. She gazed down intently, closely inspecting for marks or scratches left by the madam’s claw-like nails. Jorah couldn’t help the shiver that ran its way from the tips of her fingers down to his toes, but he kept his composure well enough. And if Dany had noticed, she did not say a thing. It had after all been an uncomfortable night for them.

But then, just as Jorah moved to guide her back to her chambers, Dany’s hand stilled. Hard violet eyes slowly crawled up to meet the knight’s, and Dany pursed her lips slightly. “You smell different,” she murmured. Her brow furrowed, showing the confusion that would undoubtedly lead to suspicion. “There’s Alpha on you. Why?”

There it was; the face that Jorah feared to see. In one look, Dany was both concerned for him, and disturbed for his resulting state. She did not know where his strange new scent came from, just that it wasn’t him, and Jorah could not begin to imagine what she was thinking now. She might think another Alpha had tried to attack him. Or worse, that he had whored himself to one.

Jorah stepped back away from his queen, and he reached into his belt to grab the offending little bottle. He held it up for Dany to see. “What happened before, Khaleesi, it won’t happen again.”

“What is that?” asked Dany, her upper body tipping forward. Jorah swallowed the growing lump. “A potion…perfume. I needed to take precautions. I will not bring more trouble onto our cause.”

Daenerys’s gaze turned inward, almost disbelievingly. She gnawed on her bottom lip, mulling over what she could possibly say to something she had never explicitly seen. How could Jorah have lasted for so long among the _khalasar_ without such remedies, but not now? Why did being in this city change that? Were there greater threats lurking nearby she had yet to see. Any way she approached it, no explanation made real sense to Dany, and it deepened the sinking guilt in her stomach.

“You did no such thing, Jorah,” she told him. She noticed how the lines in his face softened at her use of his given name, without his knight’s title. “No Alpha, be they male or female, has right to force you into submission. Your mere presence at the feast was undeserving of such treatment, and believe me, I am as embarrassed as you are. But you know it wasn’t your fault. You know Alphas are not so easy to give in to impulses like animals. You have proven that much by living amongst the _khalasar_. You have survived well before, and you have taught me to do the same.”

“Be that as it may, Khaleesi, there are still people in this world who seek to prey on us.”

Dany nodded, muttering, “I understand.” She reached out and rested her hand on Jorah’s arm. The warmth was enough to send a shiver up Jorah’s spine. But then she said, “I don’t want you using those perfumes.”

The breath in Jorah’s throat caught hard, and the nauseating turn in his stomach almost caused him to stagger back. But the knight stood still, frozen in front of his princess, who looked up at him with the same certainty he saw before she walked in the flames.

“Khaleesi…?” he muttered. His voice hitched in a way he had not heard of himself since his youth. But Dany continued, halting his plea. “I wish to rule the free people of Westeros, and a man cannot be free if he must hide who he truly is. Under my rule, no Omega will ever have to use scent maskers again, nor live in fear of being raped. But if that is to happen, then it must begin here, and I need you to be the example.”

Jorah could feel his throat clenching, and his stomach ached with passion. It was a beautiful world that Daenerys envisioned. The future she hoped to bring about would truly be a glorious thing. If only she knew how fruitless such a fight would be. A few rebellious breeders could not undo the way of man, the instinct that would always return women and Omegas to their natural place, one way or another.

“I…I want to help you, Khaleesi. I really do.” Jorah’s voice was soft, and yet somehow it was still enough to be heard reverberating off the walls. “But I fear I cannot defend you if I defend protect myself. They see me standing beside you, get a whiff of my scent, and they see a tool to barter with you. We invite their attacks that way. You know the struggles of being a Beta woman, but you are not just any other woman. Your blood offers its own protection. As you saw, all I am to them is an expensive whore. And not all men can be won with battle prowess like the Dothraki. I fight them off, but then they get angry, and they come back stronger.”

“Then let them,” said Dany. “They cross me, and they will face my wrath.”

“They will kill you if you try. A Beta woman defending male Omegas is like blasphemy to these people, and they won’t allow it, dragons or no dragons.” With every word, Jorah was becoming tenser with the _khaleesi_. “With all that you have yet to face, I will not have you fighting my battles for me.”

That stung. Dany’s eyes dimmed with the unexpected offense, and she bit the inside of her cheek. To her, it felt like the entire world was part of some mass conspiracy that she would never understand. How was she supposed to resign herself to behavior so harmful and base, and more so, accept it as normal? She had to wonder now if there was something wrong with her if she thought it immoral to own a slave, or to decide their treatment based on what was or wasn’t between their legs. But shouldn’t her most loyal advisor be the first to agree?

“I know what I have to face,” she told the knight. “But I would never leave anyone behind to suffer. I couldn’t live with myself if you were made to be someone’s bed slave while I sat on the Iron Throne. I wouldn’t sleep if your scent denied you what you were entitled to. For thousands of years, rulers have allowed this injustice; Omega oppression, Alpha dominance, and slavery. I want to be the one to end it.”

Jorah could almost feel the tears that threatened to form. Daenerys truly was unlike anyone he had ever known, to see past gender and judge with her heart. She did not see him for what he will never be. And if she saw such a world, a world where his kind had as much right as the Alphas who sired them, in that moment, he might have believed them too.

“I’m sorry, Khaleesi,” Jorah muttered, face falling to the floor in shame. “It has been difficult…being here. I don’t know what has been happening to me to cause this.”

“You mean your scent becoming more noticeable? Yes, I have noticed that too. But it hasn’t been that obvious. Forgive me for saying, but I believe you can get by. And if the Alphas need to be distracted by a little girl, I’m sure I should suffice.”

Jorah couldn’t help but to softly laugh at that. “Within reason, my princess. You also need to be careful.”

“I will.” Dany allowed them both a brief moment before the look in her eyes suddenly shifted, and she hooked her hand around the crook of Jorah’s elbow, pulling him gently toward their palace chambers. “Now, enough of this. I wanted to tell you earlier, but we need to act quickly. Robert Baratheon is dead!”

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With all respect to the _khaleesi_ , Jorah tried to keep his promise. It was easy to immediately forget the scent blockers; the news of King Robert’s death was unexpected, and the ensuing civil war was unsettling. But it was not as unsettling as how hasty Daenerys was to make for an invasion of Westeros, with no armies or allies. For all her assertions that Omegas and Betas being equal, she was frightfully quick to use her position to force him back into submission. How he managed to talk her down, Jorah doubted he would ever know.

But then she sent him away again. They needed a ship, she reminded him desperately. She could manage the search for allies and support on her own. Jorah’s instincts were screaming not to leave her alone, but he wanted to give her all that she wanted, especially after the embarrassment at the feast. And the sooner they got out of Qarth, the sooner they would all be safe.

He wanted to keep his promise, he really did. But he had a mission, and there were too many opportunities for someone to sneak up on him. As Jorah wandered on the docks, among the burly Alpha sailors from all the world over, Jorah was as discreet as he could be, thanks to the shadow woman’s little brew.

Jorah could hardly imagine how Dany would look at him now, how her violet eyes would undress him until his dignity lay in shambles.

He was so close to achieving his goal when he heard about the attack. The fire that had been doused was reignited when they said the dragons had been stolen.

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She wasn’t afraid of any of these bastards. That was all that Dany was telling herself when she entered that wretched place. She saw things that she couldn’t understand. She saw things that made her angry. She saw things that scared her. But her children called out for her. She could feel it like a knife in her belly. Any danger to them was worth the danger to her.

In the shadow of the burning house, the air permeated with the smell of charred flesh, Dany leaned into Jorah’s strong arms. Perhaps it was her youth, or perhaps it was her widow’s loneliness, but she felt more at home there than she ever had before. The heat of his body comforted, and his scent on her nose soothed.

She would forgive him this once for disobeying her about the false scents. They had all been shaken, but Dany would see to it herself that Jorah’s pride would be recovered.

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So they got their gold, and they found their ship. And much to the relief of everyone, they left the cursed city of Qarth behind them. They had lost some people on the way, people who Dany had considered to be friends. But now they had a path, and it felt as though Westeros lay just beyond the reaches of Slaver’s Bay. For her part, Dany could not have been more exhausted. She actually didn’t mind as Jorah ushered her toward her cabin. And when he asked if she needed anything more, Dany had only one request.

“Watch over my dragons, Ser Jorah,” she said to him, cradling Drogon in her hands. She lifted up the small dragon, all tail and wings, and she coaxed him to shift over to Jorah’s shoulder. The knight went a bit rigid, too cautious of a little reptile who had just managed to destroy a building. But he let himself relax when Drogon rubbed his horned head against his beard. Dany smiled; if there was ever a good judge of character, it was her precious dragon.

As Dany crept into her bunk, she turned her head to watch Jorah guide Drogon down his arm, and into the reed cage to join his clutch-brothers. The knight then settled down across the cabin, quietly setting himself to do his queen’s bidding. Feeling the sway of the waves, as well as the lingering hold of the Shade she had been made to drink, Dany didn’t fight the sleep that soon swept over her.

But then she dreamed…

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_She walked through a flat land, a desert dry beyond the bone. There was nothing around her, nothing to be seen or heard. It was simply her, the dust, and the sky._

_She was naked, and her body was blackened with ash and smoke. Oh yes, she could feel it still. The fire that had brought her back to life was still raging on inside her._

_She looked up; the sky was a deep ocean of violet above her, like she was staring into the eyes of all her ancient forbearers before her. And from that empty abyss, a single diamond star was falling to the earth. Mournfully, she followed its path downward to the ground she tread upon._

_A dead plant lay wilted against the cracked soil, what might have been the only other sign of life. At first glance, it was no more than a decrepit little weed. But something strange was happening. With every step she took closer, the plant pulsed. The dry leaves regained their soft feel, the color returned, and the thin stalk slowly stood itself up again. It was as though it pulled life directly from her, using her to save itself. Enwrapped in the sight, she fell to her knees, and she reached out her hand to touch it._

_From the small bud at the stem’s neck, a delicate white flower pulsed into bloom._

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Dany burst awake suddenly. Pushing herself up in her bed, she stretched out the sore muscles in her neck and shoulders. Her forehead and temples were damp in sweat, and that was simply perplexing. It was such a simple dream. It should not have had such an effect on her. And yet her body was reacting the way it would when she saw far worse in her dreams, like when she saw the burning corpse of Drogo, or the ghost of her son.

She looked across the cabin, her eyes piercing through the darkness to find Jorah in the same place she had left him. He also had fallen asleep some time ago, propped up against the wall. However, when Dany looked on him now, something was decidedly different. The warmth inside her had faded. She shared a space with her advisor, whereas she went to sleep with a dear friend. And though before, she craved Jorah’s company, now she remembered how uncomfortable he made her feel in the Red Waste, how his proclamations of her greatness came from a deeper place than loyalty.

Guilt building in her gut, Dany settled herself down again, trying not to feel anything as she went back to sleep. It seemed the Shade of the Evening had finally worn off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick moment here to say thank you to everyone who has been reading this story. Every time I log into my AO3 account and see this story's view count slowly ticking up every week, I am so blown away by the acceptance.
> 
> I have no idea when the next chapter will be finished. I really do intend to work on other things for a while, and I am hopelessly distracted to how the Thrones canon story is going, forget about my strange, highly romanticized version of it. But if you guys keep coming back, then so will I!
> 
> Thank you and happy reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, just in case anyone didn't quite get the idea, here's a brief explanation of how Omega-verse works in this particular interpretation.
> 
> In Westeros, people have two genders: their birth gender (male or female), and their breeder gender (alpha, beta, and omega). Breeding genders here follow most of the same traditional roles of other fandoms. However, in my universe, the birth genders are the primary. Men still outrank women in almost all aspects of society. Breeders only really come into play for power amongst the higher houses, which is where the most alphas and omegas are found. And though breeding genders can influence personality (ex. alphas being dominant and promiscuous, omegas being gentle and loyal), their real influence only comes into play when nature dictates, such as when an omega is in heat, and an alpha consequently has a rut. If I had to break down the social ladder using both genders, depending on class, region, and situation, it would have to go like this: Alpha males, Beta males, Alpha females, Beta females, Omega males, and lastly Omega females.
> 
> More about these dynamics will be explained further in coming chapters, but for now, I felt I had to paint rather broadly for the beginning, and I am crap with writing first chapters. If anyone has any questions about how this works, feel free to ask in the comments.
> 
> Please be kind in your reviews and leave your kudos and feedback. Thank you so much!


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